Options
by Noterwomann
Summary: When Ron is forced to leave the Wizarding community he takes up residents in the Granger’s house where he not only learns to live life like a Muggle but also some surprising things about himself and his favorite witch. AU Not Deathly Hallows Compliant
1. Melvin and Jane

Chapter 1: Melvin and Jane

The weather was unusually hot and humid for England in the first week of November. There was so much moisture in the air that it felt like a blanket when a person built up the courage to step outside his door. But Ron couldn't feel it. Ron felt cold. So cold his fingers and toes ached with it. He had taken to wearing a minimum of three layers of socks and sitting near a fire so that he could hold his fingers close to the bright orange flames, but still they ached. He tried hot baths and having Hermione cast warming spells on them. Nothing worked. Ronald Weasley hadn't felt warm in days.

He rubbed his numb fingers vigorously together and Mrs Granger looked over at him. "Hermione said you were having a difficult time staying warm. So I placed some extra blankets in your room. I put them in the trunk sitting at the foot of the bed."

Ron nodded to let her know he had heard her but couldn't muster the will to answer. He hadn't felt like talking since he had made the biggest blunder of his life. He had let down Harry, Hermione, his family, and so many others. He was a failure in every sense of the word and the knowledge of it ate away at his insides like a virus.

"Melvin already brought your trunk up." Jane Granger came to a stop beside an open door. "Why don't you settle yourself in then come downstairs for dinner?"

Again Ron chose to nod his head instead of speaking and Jane felt a swell of pity for the boy.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I know things look pretty horrible right now, but these things tend to turn out all right in the end. You'll see."

Jane patted his shoulder as she stepped around him leaving him standing outside his new bedroom. As she walked away she was unaware that he was struggling with every ounce of his being not to follow after her and rail at her. _'These things tend to turn out all right in the end'_? How could things ever be all right again? How could it be all right when he was forced to leave Harry and Hermione _**now**_ when they needed him the most? It would never be all right as long as his two best friends were out there learning and studying and searching without him. And it would never be all right as long as he knew it was his fault he was in this predicament. He could blame no one but himself. The burden of fault lay securely on his shoulders.

Ron heard the mad fluttering of wings inside the room followed by the excited twitters of a small owl that meant Pig was no longer alone. Ron took the few steps that brought him into the room and saw that Harry's snow-white owl, Hedwig, was sitting there pointedly ignoring Pig and his frantic flight inside his cage as she waited for Ron to remove her burden.

"Hello, girl," he whispered as he stroked Hedwig's soft, feathered head. "How are Harry and Hermione?" He asked as she patiently extended her leg so that he could untie the letter one of them had sent.

Hedwig hooted softly, conveying in that one sound how they all felt about what had happened.

"That bad, huh?"

She hooted again while Ron set the letter aside so that he could search his trunk for the box of owl treats he kept there. When he found the package he tipped a small pile in Pig's dish and set it before her. She hooted her gratitude as she pecked at the first treat while Ron found some water to give to her as well.

With his task done Ron took up the note and turned it over to find Hermione's tidy hand addressing the letter.

Having only parted company with her that morning Ron didn't know what she could possibly have to say to him but he broke the wax seal and opened the note anyway.

'Dear Ron,' the letter began, 'I expect that you'll have arrived shortly before my letter. I don't have a great deal to write now; I talked to you only this morning. I'm sure you're feeling incredibly low at the moment; one could hardly blame you. And so I am writing because I wished to remind you not to lose hope. The Ministry has Aurors working on your case and I am certain it won't take them long to find a solution. You'll be back here with Harry and me in no time. But until that happens I want to encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity. Rarely does a pure-blood wizard have the chance to spend this kind of time with Muggles. It will be an extraordinary learning opportunity for you. I promise to keep you posted as well as I can. You know how things are. Just think on what I said, all right?  
Until my next letter,  
Hermione.'

Ron stared at the contents of the letter in disbelief for several seconds. With a snarl of frustration he crumpled the note in his hands and tossed it angrily toward the rubbish bin sitting next to the desk. The letter was so annoyingly like Hermione. Only she would see this tragedy in his life as an opportune learning experience. Couldn't she see how horrible this was for him? Couldn't she even imagine what he was feeling like right now? No, all she saw was that this was an _'extraordinary learning opportunity'._

Needing something to do with his hands, he reached for the latch on his trunk but stopped half bent over. What did he need out of his trunk? Everything that was packed away inside was from his life at Hogwarts. A life that he could no longer partake in.

Sighing heavily he opened the lid long enough to rummage through and find all his clothes, excluding his robes, and tossing them in a messy heap on his bed before closing the lid and locking it tight. Pushing up his sleeves to keep them out of the way he bent over, placing his hands firmly on the corners and pushing it toward the closet. He opened the door and saw that there was more than enough room to store all his clothes and a nice dark corner where he could hide his trunk out of sight.

He slid the trunk across the carpeted floor and through the doorway. With a great deal of manoeuvring and heaving he finally wedged it into place. He moved quickly back to the bed and picked up a pile of shirts and trousers and brought them to the closet where he hung them on hangers and suspended them from the rods. When the last shirt was in place he took a step back and was satisfied to find that his clothing completely hid his trunk from sight and it brought a sigh of relief to his lips. _Out of sight, out of mind_, he thought wistfully, knowing that it would never really be out of mind.

With that task finished he returned to the bed and took up his socks and pants and put them in the small chest of drawers the Grangers had provided him. When he slid the last drawer back into place he turned and took his first real look at the room he would be calling home.

It was a plain room, done un-inspiringly in varying shades of tan. The walls, the carpet, the comforter were all tan. The only splashes of colour the room had were the three throw pillows of dark green, the copper lampshade and the few pieces of art arranged on the walls.

The room was well put together and functional, a very practical room. It was exactly the kind of room Ron expected the Grangers to have. Despite the lack of colour and vibrancy his own room at The Burrow had, it was still welcoming in its own way. Ron pursed his lips to the side in thought. The only thing that would have to go was the pillows. He simply could not be expected to live in a room that had Slytherin-green pillows.

Scooping the offending objects into his arms he carried them to the closest and deposited them on a high shelf where they would be well out of sight. With that done he let out a sigh. That was better. He felt much more at home now. Well, as at home as he could feel considering the circumstances. He didn't think he would ever feel truly at home here. It just didn't fit right.

Ron turned and with a dramatic groan plopped on his back across the foot of the bed. His eyes blurred as he tried to focus on the plain white ceiling above him. It seemed so… empty and …bare …so different then his own ceiling at home. For the briefest of moments he considered writing his mum and asking her to send him some of his Chudley posters to brighten up the room but decided against it in the end. The Chudley posters were a part of his old life. They had no place here in the Muggle world. Besides they were too conspicuous. What if a Muggle who knew nothing of the wizard world should happen to see them? How could Ron explain away the moving pictures? He couldn't. No the posters were better left where they were.

Ron was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a soft knock at his bedroom door. He turned his head to see Mr Granger standing in the frame, his finger resting against the half closed panel.

"Mr Granger." He rolled off the bed and onto his feet. "Come in."

Ron watched as the older man stepped into the room and closed the door and the thought ran through his head that Hermione most definitely did not get her diminutive height from her father.

"Hello Ronald," Melvin Granger greeted as he looked around the room curiously. "I thought I would come up and see if you need any help. Didn't you bring anything that would help make you feel more at home?"

"No sir." Ron shook his head sadly. "Everything I own comes from the wizarding world."

"Ahh…" Mr Granger nodded his balding head. "I see. Do you mind if I sit?" He asked indicating the chair set at the desk in the corner.

"Not at all."

Melvin set himself in the chair then looked up at Ron, who was towering over him. "Please, sit," he prompted when the young man remained standing. He waited until Ron was seated before he leaned forward, his hands clasped, his elbows propped on his knees. "This is hard for you, isn't it, Ron? I don't see how it couldn't be. You must feel like everything you once thought you knew about yourself is a lie. You must feel like you don't know who you are or where you're headed anymore. And no matter if you choose to admit it to yourself or not, you're scared. More scared then you have ever been in your life."

Ron stared at Hermione's father, shock written on every inch of his candid face.

"Hermione went through the same thing," he explained, "when she first learned that she was a witch. Hermione used to share everything with us. Her hopes, her dreams, her feelings. That was a really hard time for her and for us. She told us how alone and scared she felt. She doesn't tell us things like that anymore." A note of regret crept into the older man's voice. "She hasn't for a long time."

"Mr Granger…"

Melvin held up his hand to stop Ron. "I'm not asking you to divulge any of my daughter's secrets, nor to make you feel guilty for taking my place as her confidant. It was just an observation that I've made. I can't tell you how thrilled I am that Hermione has found two friends that she feels comfortable with and whom she trusts enough to share her secrets. Jane and I have always worried about her. Hermione always had a hard time making friends. Strange things always happened around her and she was so bright I think it made the other children feel uncomfortable. But now that she has you and Harry I sleep better at night, knowing that you two have her back and that you are always looking out for her. I'm glad that I finally have the opportunity to repay some of my debt to you."

"Mr. Granger, honestly, you don't owe me anything."

"Nonsense! I owe you a great deal, more than I think you realise. Which is why you will always be welcome here."

"Thank you." Ron stammered, not knowing what else to say.

"No, thank you Ron. It's truly a pleasure to have you. So," he clapped his hands together before leaning back in his chair, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, "I was hoping to take this opportunity while Jane is cooking to talk to you about your options."

Ron cringed as Mr Granger's voice melded into Headmistress McGonagall's and echoed quietly through the back of his brain.

'_**We need to discus your options, Mr Weasley.'**_

'_**My options?'**_

'_**Yes, Mr Weasley, your options. I'm afraid it is no longer viable for you to remain here at Hogwarts.'**_

Ron shook his head. Those words, _your options, _in his opinion, would never bode well for him. He swallowed past the lump that had gathered in his throat. "My options, sir?"

"Yes, your options. Your first option is, you can either continue to call me Mr Granger or we can forgo the formalities and you can call me Melvin, or if you prefer, Mel. After all, you are going to be living with us for an undetermined amount of time and I think it would be more comfortable for all involved if we were on a first name basis."

"I don't know," Ron scrunched his brow "That might get a bit strange. You're Hermione's dad."

"Yes I am," he agreed. "But I sincerely hope we can set that aside and become friends. But it's all right." He patted Ron's knee. "You don't have to call me Mel until you're ready. All right?"

Ron nodded and watched as Mr Granger's foot twitched into motion as he readied to move on to his next topic. "How old are you Ron?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"Yes, as I thought. And you'll be eighteen in March, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Mr Granger nodded, his pursed lips twitching from side to side. "Hermione warned us you're not very fond of school."

"No, sir. Not very much."

"And I suspect one of the reasons you agreed to come here and stay with us was the belief that Jane and I would not insist you go to school."

"Well…" The very tips of Ron's ears coloured pink.

"Don't be embarrassed, Ron." Mel leaned forward in his seat. "Don't tell Jane or Hermione this, but when I was your age I didn't much care for school either. It wasn't until University when I was on my own and doing what I wanted that I learned to love it. Be that as it may, Jane and I both strongly believe in education and before we even started our family we agreed that our children would attend school until they were legally adults. Of course with Hermione that was never really a concern, but…Jane and I have talked about your circumstances in great detail and we both agree that it would be better for you if you attend school.

Ron's bright blue eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. "School?" he gasped. "With Muggles?" Mr Granger nodded. "I can't go to school with Muggles."

"On the contrary, you can. You are here, Ron, so that we can help assimilate you to the…Muggle world, did you call it? You are here because your teachers and parents thought living with us would be the easiest way for you to grow accustomed to our way of life."

"But Mr Granger, I've never been to a Muggle school. I wouldn't know what to do. I'd look like an idiot."

"Idiot is a little harsh, Ron, don't you think? Listen," his ankle slid off his knee and landed on the floor with a soft thump, "I understand your objections, but Jane and I have discussed this matter at length and we agreed that we should hold the same expectations for you as we did Hermione. We expect any child who stays in our home to attend school until they are eighteen years old, until they are a legal adult, at which time they can make their own legal decision whether they want to continue with school or not. You turn eighteen in March; at that time you can make the decision for yourself. But until then, you go."

Ron glowered at his knees. "I should have just gone home," he muttered, crossing his arms childishly across his chest.

"You still can. It was your decision to come here; no one forced you. If you want, Jane and I can drive you home tomorrow, no hurt feelings." The young man's shoulders hunched up around his ears and his face tucked into his chest. "But I highly suggest you stay here and attend school."

"Why?"

"Because no one knows how long you'll have to remain an exile of the wizarding world. Days? Weeks? Months? What if its years? You still have to go on living your life as best you can, even if that's living it like a Muggle. Jane and I can teach you a lot. How to run a Muggle house, the ins and outs of finances, how to act with professional decorum, which will help you with the basics in life. But we can't teach you how to be a young man in the Muggle world. I'm sorry Ron, I don't know any of the social costumes and expectations you will need to know. Those you can only learn by going to school and interacting with other individuals your age."

"So you want to send me to a Muggle school just so I can make friends."

"No, we are going to send you to a Muggle school so that you have the _opportunity_ to make friends while learning the tools you will need to support a career of your choice. I could only teach you how to be a dentist, and I doubt that is what you want with your life. What do you want to do with your life Ronald?"

Ron looked up at Mr Granger in surprise. _What did he want to do with his life? _He wanted to go back to the wizard world, that's what he wanted. He wanted to be looking for Horcruxes with his two best friends. He wanted to end this war so that he could finally…Ron's mind came to a halting stop. So that he could finally what? Any chance he ever had of making something of himself was gone now.

"Ron?"

The red haired boy jerked to attention. "Can…can I think about it for a little while?"

"Yes." Mel nodded. "I suppose that is only fair." He leaned forward in his seat, bracing his hands against his thighs. "All right then, in the chance that you will stay, lets discuss house rules." Mel chuckled at the look of mild displeasure that slipped onto Ron's face. "Yes, Ron, if you decide to stay, Jane and I will expect you to abide by certain house rules. We'll expect the same from you as we did from Hermione. They are really very simple. Assignments and revisions are to be done first thing when you get home from school. There is no TV-watching or computer using until it's finished."

"Mr Granger," Ron timidly interrupted, "what is a tea V and a come putter?"

"Good heavens!" Mel shook his head with disbelief. "It never crossed my mind that you wouldn't be accustomed to… It's so common place I just assumed…well, no matter. We'll take care of that when we're done clearing the kitchen after dinner. Which conveniently brings us to our next house rule. We take turns making the meals in this house and everyone helps clear when we're finished eating. Sunday is when we do chores in the yard and Monday after work is when the house gets cleaned." Melvin bit the inside of his lip to stop the chuckle that threatened to escape the more Ron struggled to hide his look of displeasure. "Jane thought we should forego on expecting you to help with chores but I'm afraid I had to insist. I want this to feel like home for you. And you'll always feel like a guest if you don't participate in the daily chores."

"I suppose that makes sense," Ron grudgingly agreed.

Melvin finally gave in to his amusement and chuckled as he glanced down at the watch strapped to his wrist. "We'll continue this discussion later. Right now we had better head downstairs and help Jane set the table."

Without a word Ron followed Melvin to his feet and out of the room. His large shoes made a shuffling sound as they dragged along the hallway and down the stairs, clumping softly on each step. When the two men reached the kitchen Jane looked up from her work with a smile on her lips. "Hello boys. Perfect timing. The chicken is nearly finished."

"It smells wonderful, dear." Mr. Granger crossed the small kitchen to stand behind his wife, a hand coming up to lightly rest on her hip. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Might I steel a bite?"

"Mel, the chicken is still in the oven. It's too ho…" Jane broke off when Mel's teeth grazed lightly across her neck. Ron turned quickly on his heel and faced the opposite direction, willing his face to remain a neutral tone instead of the usual incriminating red.

'Mel," Jane slapped her husbands hand away with a chuckle. She nodded to the young man standing on the other side of the room. "Teenager in the house," she reminded him.

"Oh, right." Mel stepped back from his wife, letting his hand linger a moment longer on her hip. "Let's get to it then. Shall we Ron?" He moved quickly toward the high cupboard on the left side of the sink where Ron soon learned the plates and cups were stored. Within seconds of opening the first cupboard Ron knew where Hermione had gotten her tendency to over organise.

The plates were all stacked in neat piles on the first row of shelving. The biggest plates were stacked on the left, medium sized plates beside that, then a row of desert plates and lastly a stack of tea saucers. On the next shelf began the glasses organised not only by size but also by colour. Blue, yellow and white, each one arranged tallest to shortest. And on the shelf above that were the mugs and teacups the family used - mugs on the left, teacups on the right. This shelf, surprisingly, had little variation in colour, you could either choose from white, white or if you really wanted, white. However Ron was comforted to see that three mugs stood out amongst the rest. In a place of predominance on the forefront of the shelf was a mug for each member of the Granger family, each one its own colour and each one inscribed with the name of a family member.

First there was a dark blue mug with white script that read Melvin, a yellow mug with orange writing proclaiming Jane and a soft, pale pink mug with light blue elaborate script that spelled out Hermione's name. Ron's lips almost twitched at the site of it. Never would he have imagined Hermione choosing pink as her colour. It was such a prissy, girly colour, so unlike his Mione.

"Ron." The tall redhead blinked back to attention at the sound of his name. Mr. Granger was holding a small stack of plates. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." Ron hurried forward to accept the stack from Hermione's father.

The two men fell into silence as they worked together to prepare the table while Mr. Granger half listened to his wife describe a procedure she had preformed earlier that day on one of her patients. There were several times during her story when Ron found himself arrested in his work with shock over something she had said.

Hermione had tried many times in vain to explain what it was her parents did for a living, but he was never able to pay attention to her for very long. He would either lose interest as she grew too technical with her explanation or he would simply get so lost and confused Hermione would simply give up on him. But he never remembered her saying anything about her parents cutting teeth out or putting metal on them. Muggles were barmy, all of them, most especially Hermione's parents.

By the time Ron set the last bowl of vegetables on the table the chicken was finished and dished up on a platter by Mrs. Granger. Jane set the meat in the very centre of the table while Melvin retrieved a pitcher of chilled water and lemonade from the icebox.

Heeding his mother's instructions to always wait until your hostess was seated before taking your own, Ron stood near the end of the table until Mrs Granger had set the chicken in the middle and took her seat.

Jane glanced over at the boy who was still standing stiffly a few paces away. She pulled the seat beside her out from the table and nodded her head toward it. "You can sit down, Ronald."

"I…I didn't know where I was suppose to sit." He stammered as an excuse as he took the proffered chair and sat down.

Jane smiled sweetly while patting his hand. "Well now you know. Would you prefer dark meat," she took up his plate, "or light?"

Ten minutes later found Jane and Melvin staring with acute curiosity at their daughter's friend. Hermione had spent a good part of the last six years telling them a great deal about the two boys that had become her best friends, in particular the one now sitting across from them at the dinning table. They couldn't recall all the times Hermione had complained about Ron's eating habits. How she had never seen a human being who could eat as much in one sitting as he could, or who couldn't seem to manage to swallow his food before speaking.

But this boy who was sitting in front of them hadn't managed to swallow even an entire mouthful. He had spent the past ten minutes chasing his beans around his plate with his fork, never taking a bite, before jabbing it aggressively into the chicken breast that had until that moment remained untouched on his plate.

Mrs Granger set her fork and knife delicately at the side of her plate before using her napkin to dab her mouth clean. "Ronald," she asked tentatively. "Is there something wrong? Hermione assured me you liked chicken."

"What?" His head jerked up from his plate, his eyes finding Mrs Granger. "No, no… Everything's fine. I love chicken." He used his fork to tear a morsel off and popped it between his lips. "It tastes great Mrs Granger." He chewed the chunk until it was fine then forced his throat to swallow. "See."

"You know, Ron," Mr Granger said as he watched the redhead tear another chunk from the chicken and force it between his lips, "you don't have to eat if you're not hungry. I wouldn't be surprised in the least if something like this caused you to lose your appetite for a while." Ron slowly set one prong of his fork against his plate and watched as the rest turned like a top from that point. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Ron shrugged. "I haven't felt like eating since I…since_ it_ happened," he admitted, his face flushing with shame. "And the few times I have been hungry and did eat I wasn't able to keep that much of it down. And I don't want… I'm just not hungry."

"How long has it been, Ron?" Mel repeated.

"I don't know… A week, I reckon."

"A week?" Jane gasped. "You haven't eaten anything in a week?"

"No, I just ate some chicken."

"But Ronald, you can't…"

"Jane," Mel said, a hint of warning in his voice.

The two adults looked at each other and seemed to have come to an understanding. Jane sighed as she turned back to Ron. "When you do feel like eating, the kitchen is always open."

"Thank you, Mrs Granger."

"Think nothing of it, Ronald." She patted his hand. "I want you to feel comfortable here. Which means the kitchen is always open. So," she took up her fork and knife and separated another morsel of chicken from the bone, "what did you boys discuss while I was slaving away in here?"

Ron shrugged his left shoulder dismissively as he resumed chasing his beans. "Rules."

"Melvin," Jane slowly turned on her husband, giving her eyes a dramatic roll. "Rules? The boy steps foot in our home for the first time and you bombard him with _rules_?"

"Jane," he drew out her name with a light note of mockery, "the rules needed to be said. Ron needs to know what we expect from him. How else is he to know what the boundaries are?"

"Yes, but you couldn't start with a 'Hello Ron, welcome to the house? Is there anything I can do for you?' Really, Melvin, sometimes…"

"It's all right, Mrs Granger. Really," Ron said timidly. "I don't mind."

"But I _do_." She sent her husband a half glare out of the corner of her eye and Ron recognised it immediately as the same half glare he was so often receiving from her daughter. It was almost comforting, in a bizarre, complicated sort of way.

Jane shook her head disapprovingly as she turned away from her husband, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. "Am I right in assuming that at some point during your _lecture_ my husband managed to tell you about our decision to send you to school?"

"Yes, ma'am, but…"

"Very good." She took up her fork and resumed cutting into her meant. "Tomorrow we'll head into town to buy your school supplies. You'll need paper, pens, pencils and a few pieces for your new uniform. Is there anything you need that we can stop and get while we're out?"

"I don't think…"

"Jane, that room needs some work," Melvin interrupted before Ron had a chance to speak. "It is far too old for a boy his age. You should stop and get him some things to make it feel more like home."

"Oh." Her eyes widened and her brain began to churn with thought. "I hadn't even thought of that." She turned to look at Ron critically. "We didn't really have time, this all happened so suddenly. But I think we can manage that easily enough. Perhaps a new comforter, a fresh coat of paint on the walls, posters and pinups…"

"Please, Mr and Mrs Granger. Don't trouble yourself…"

"It's no trouble." Jane assured him, her eyes twinkling bright. "It will be nice to have someone young in the house again. Melvin and I always wanted more children but that just wasn't meant to be." She sighed heavily, looking across the table to an empty seat at the end. "It's always lonely here without her."

"Jane." Melvin set his hand lightly on his wife's wrist when he saw tears begin to gather behind her eyes.

"I'm all right." She wiped at her right eye where a tear had worked its way out. She gave her head a firm shake, clearing away the remaining tears. "I won't take no for an answer, young man. As long as you are staying under our roof you are family. And I like nothing better in the world then to spoil my family."

"Spoil, dear?"

Jane dismissed Mel's question with a wave. "You know what I mean. The point is tomorrow when we're out we'll pick up your uniform, school supplies and a few things to spruce up your room."

"Mrs. Granger…"

"You know dear," she interrupted smoothly. "I think that I would like for you to call me Jane."

"But…"

"I don't think he's ready for that yet."

"I couldn't possibly…" Ron tried to agree with Mel.

"Well, when you are. No need to rush anything. So tomorrow we'll pick up your supplies and on Monday you'll start school. We decided that for sanity's sake, in keeping our stories straight, we would make it as simple as possible. When we visited your new school to register we told them that you are an old family friend. Your parents are going through a difficult time at the moment so they asked us if you could stay here until they get back on their feet. How does that sound?"

Ron blinked at her a moment not knowing what to say. "That sounds fine." He muttered knowing she expected an answer. He hadn't really heard most of what she had said after his starting school on Monday. The truth was no matter how much he wanted to run home right now and burry himself under the covers of his own bed, he knew he had to stay. He couldn't bear the thought of going home and being around magic every day and seeing the look of disappointment on his parents' faces, or listening to Fred and George taunt him… No, he had to stay with the Grangers. The alternative was unbearable.

Which meant, in less then a week he would be starting Muggle school, a place he never thought in his life he would step foot inside. He was absolutely terrified. It was all he could do to bite back the hysterical laughter threatening to come forth. How ridiculous did that sound? Ron Weasley, descendent of a long line of pure-blood witches and wizards, terrified of a room full of Muggles? It was ludicrous. What could they do to him that was any worse then what he had already experienced in the wizarding world? What could they do to him? Nothing worth fretting over. But even armed with this knowledge he was still terrified. He could only imagine what Draco Malfoy, the stupid tosser, would have to say about this - that was, if any one could find him to ask him.

Ron pushed his plate softly away and braced his hands on the side of the table. "May I be excused please?"

"Yes, of course, dear."

Melvin watched as the young man brought his plate to the sink and instinctually slid his hand into his pocket. The boy's shoulders dropped further when he withdrew it, clutched in an empty fist. He cleared away the untouched food and rinsed of his plate before putting it back where it belonged in the cupboard.

"Ron, wait!" Mel called when the redhead was at the door, his hand in place to push it open. "Why don't I show you how to use the TV and the computer? Sweetheart, do you mind?"

"No." Jane stood and began stacking his plate on top of her own. "But you can do all the dishes tomorrow."

"Deal."

Mel pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek before moving to the door and putting his arm around Ron's shoulders, drawing him out of the room. "Ron, my boy, there is this amazing invention we Muggles have come up with called the television."


	2. Willow Creek Academy

Chapter 2: Willow Creek Academy

Hermione growled with frustration as she pitched the last recovered relic of the Black family into a rubbish bag. Her head dropped into her hands. "This doesn't make sense." She glanced around the gloomy kitchen with a lost, dazed expression on her face. She pushed against the table as she rose to her feet, then rushed across the room, withdrawing her wand from the deep pocket of her robe. She flung open the door to the small broom cupboard with such force that it collided with the wall and swung closed at her heels with a snap.

From behind the heavy wood Harry heard a succession of sharp taps. Curiously he followed her to the door, turned the handle and pulled it open. He made to enter but was forced to stop just inside, the small space not being big enough for the both of them. He crossed his arms and watched with bewilderment as his friend tapped her wand against the walls, the ceiling and the floor boards, her face growing consecutively darker with each tap.

"Hermione," Harry asked, extending his hand and stopping her mid tap. "What are you doing?"

She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and continued her curious procedure. "I'm looking for a secret catch or a concealment charm of some kind. There must be one in here," she murmured to herself, her wand moving even faster.

"Hermione." He reached out to stop her but she batted his hand away. "Hermione," his voice was insistent, "maybe we were wrong." His voice cracked, hating even the thought. "Maybe R.A.B. wasn't Regulus Black."

"No!" she snapped angrily, glaring at Harry. "It has to be here." She pushed her bushy, brown locks out of her face as she turned to stare down Harry. "You said it yourself. Regulus was a Death Eater. His initials were R.A.B. and I know we found a locket here when we were cleaning the study two years ago. Even Kreacher admitted he saved a silver locket from the rubbish bin. It had to have been Slytherin's Harry, it just had to have been. It all fits."

"All right, let's say you're right, and R.A.B. is Regulus Black, then where is it? We've searched the entire house. There is no locket here. Where else do you suggest we look?"

"I don't…I don't know." Hermione seemed to deflate before his eyes. Her chin fell to her chest and her shoulders hunched forward around her ears. "I don't know." Her voice cracked as she sunk to the floor like a rag doll, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I don't know." Her body shuddered as she wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them even tighter to her chest. "I was so certain it was here." She turned her head to rest her cheek against her knee. "I…I…needed it to be."

Harry slowly lowered himself to his knees. He lifted his hand uncertainly to draw her into a hug but stopped just short of touching her. Instead he placed his hand awkwardly on top of hers. "What do you mean?"

"First Ron…" her voice cracked, "And now this…" Two fat tears ran down her cheeks when she blinked. "I just needed something to go right. I was so certain the locket was here…ahrrr…" She threw her head back, her fingers clawing at her hair. "I convinced myself of it because I needed to."

When Harry shifted to ease the pain gathering in his knees Hermione turned her hand and clutched tightly at his arm. "This doesn't feel right, Harry!" Her nails bit painfully into his arms. "Ron should be here! We can't do this without him! It's always been the three of us. You…me… and Ron. What are we going to do?"

"Hermione," Harry gently pried his arm free of her grasp, "come here." He scooted forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I know," he soothed, "I need him here too. But it'll be us three again, right? Scrimgeour knows Ron's too important to me to let the Ministry relax on his case, not if he doesn't want the public to know what I really think about the way he runs the Ministry. You know he'll do what ever it takes to keep me on his side. But until they figure this out it's got to be the two of us, okay?" Harry gently eased Hermione away so that he could look at her. "I need you, Hermione. I need you to help me figure this out. I can't do it alone… Please."

"I…" he saw a flash of guilt pass through her eyes a moment before the calm, reserved Hermione he knew returned. "All right." She nodded her head. "All right," Wiping away her tears she accepted Harry's hand and let him pull her to her feet.

"Right." She brushed the dust and grime from Kreacher's cupboard off her clothes before easing around Harry and into the filthy kitchen. "Right," she said again. "Let's go over the facts as we know them. Maybe saying things out loud will make things clearer." Harry sighed with relief. Hermione was back to business and the determined gleam he knew so well had returned to her eyes. "Lets assume," she began to pace agitatedly, "we know for a fact R.A.B. was Sirius's little brother. And we know the locket was here and that Kreacher saved it from the rubbish bin. That means it has to be somewhere here in the house. It couldn't have just up and walked away."

Harry lifted his head to nod in agreement but stopped suddenly, "Wait." he jerked around to face her. "What did you say?"

"It has to be somewhere here in the house."

"No, no. After that?"

"It couldn't have just up and walked away," she repeated uncertainly, watching Harry, who was staring fixatedly at Kreacher's cupboard. "Why? Harry, what are you…"

"The goblets."

"The goblets?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "What are you on about?"

Harry turned to face her, his eyes suddenly wide with inspiration. "The goblets. Don't you remember?" He took an excited step forward. "There was a set of heavy goblets with the Black family crest on them. Mundungus nicked them, remember? He nicked them and sold them in Hogsmeade."

Before Harry could finish, the pieces clicked in Hermione's head. "You think he took the locket."

"And sold it," Harry agreed. "I mean, it's the kind of thing he would take. A heavy, silver locket abandoned in a house that no one was watching over."

"For Merlin's sake." Hermione slapped her palm against her forehead. "Why didn't I see it before? How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hermione, I'm the one who saw the goblets; I knew what he was doing. If anything I should have thought of it sooner."

Hermione waved Harry's words aside. "How do we get a hold of Mundungus to question him?"

"I don't know. I would have asked Dumbledore, but…" Harry fell silent, the pain of Dumbledore's death still too fresh.

"Do you think…Tonks could help us? I mean, she is an Auror and she did say she'd help us any way she can."

Harry nodded after a moments thought. "I think she might be our best shot. Come on." He hurried to the fire banked low in the grate. "We need to get back to Hogwarts. We'll send Tonks an owl asking her to see us when she gets a chance.

"Can't we just Apparate to the Ministry now and…"

"No, we'll wait for tomorrow," Harry turned to face Hermione. "It's too late to go to the Ministry tonight." He reached up and seized a clay jar placed conveniently on the mantle and hoisted it down. "Besides, it's safer for everyone if we wait until she can find a chance to come to us." He glanced down at the jar in his hands. "Good. There's some left." His eyes moved quickly around the room. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Err…" Hermione glanced down at her watch. "Half eleven."

"Shite." Harry turned and dropped a sprinkle of powder in the flames forcing them to blaze a brilliant green. "We better hurry. I told McGonagall we'd be back by ten the latest. She's going to be furious."

Hermione's eyes widened. She rushed forward and snatched the jar out of Harry's hands. "Then what are we still doing standing here?" When Harry made no move to step into the grate, Hermione pushed him toward the flame. "Go on. I'll be right after you."

While Harry stepped into the flame and called out his destination, Hermione took a pinch of the powder for herself. She replaced the pot on the mantle and waited a few seconds to ensure that Harry had gone through before she tossed in the magical dust and cried "Headmistress McGonagall's Office".

"_Ron!" Hermione cried in a panic, trapped unwillingly on the other side of the door, She worked the handle frantically, trying desperately to get through. "Ron! What's happening? What's wrong?" her voice demanded when he made no response. "Answer me!"_

"_Hermione…" he croaked, his voice failing him._

"_Ron!" her voice screamed faintly over the sound of glass shattering. "Ron! Hold on! I'll get help! Just hold on!"_

_The image of stone walls and a banked fire grew hazy and dark as it faded into blankness. Slowly out of the shadows the stern, wrinkled face of Minerva McGonagall appeared. She looked down at him from behind her spectacles with a pinched expression on her face. "What has happened, Mr Weasley?" Sadness resonated in her voice. "What have you done? The Ministry is saying…" Her face began to spin in front of him. "We need to discus your __**options**__, Mr Weasley." Her voice grew louder the faster her image spun. "I'm afraid it is no longer viable for you to remain here at Hogwarts." Other voices began to mix with McGonagall's. Out of the riot of noise, two voices became clear._

"_Ron, what did you do?" asked Hermione. _

"_What happened?" Harry's voice followed._

"_Don't you understand?" Hermione's words grew stronger then the others. "You have to leave…you have to leave…have to leave…LEAVE…"_

"Ronald!" A pleasant, but firm voice broke through the painful words drumming in his mind. "Wake up!" In the back of his brain he became aware of a repetitive pounding that sounded like a fist against wood. "We have to leave soon." The moment his senses came back to him Ron bolted up in bed, cold sweat glistening off his skin, his throat tight and sore. "You'll be late for your first day of school."

He blinked several times to clear his vision and brought into focus a room completely redone in pleasant shades of blue. He had worked hard the past few days, both with the Grangers and without them, cleaning, organising, painting and rearranging the room until it became his own. There was a fresh coat of dense blue paint on the walls and a new rug of similar shade on the floor. The comforter that now lay across his lap was a few shades lighter then the walls: soft, heavenly warm and heavy. Ron loved sleeping under it. In the mornings, when he woke up, he sometimes almost felt warm.

His sheets, at Mrs Granger's insistence, were a bright shade of orange. Hermione must have mentioned it was his favourite colour for when Mrs Granger had spotted him looking twice at them she had put them in her cart, ignoring his objections that he didn't need new sheets. The framed art that had once been nailed into the wall was gone and was replaced by many posters that had caught Ron's attention. His walls were now covered with the skewed images Muggles had of things so common in the wizard world like dragons and wizards, nymphs and pixies, fairies and mermaids. It helped somewhat to have the familiar images around him.

Ron threw his legs over the side of the mattress and his feet bumped into the hardwood that made up his new bedstead. Mrs Granger had taken it upon herself to completely update his room, which of course meant the purchasing of a new bed, wardrobe, side table and desk. Every piece was sleek, shiny, and thoroughly modern. Very different from any of the beds Ron had ever slept in.

"Ronald Weasley!" Jane Granger's annoyed voice snapped from the other side of the door. "Get out of that bed before I come in there and drag you out myself!"

A slight grin spread across Ron's tired lips. That was the first time Mrs Granger had yelled at him since he arrived. Maybe he was going mental, but he liked her yelling at him. In a small way it made him feel more at home.

The handle of the door began to turn and Ron threw his sheets off, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. "It's all right, Mrs Granger," he called over his shoulder. "I'm up."

The door opened a crack and Jane Granger's unconvinced face appeared in the gap. When she spotted him standing at his wardrobe, top drawer open, his fingers gripped around a pair of pants, it softened into her normal welcoming grin. "I'm sorry to rush you, dear. But we have to leave early this morning to get you checked in proper."

"It's all right, Mrs Granger. I'm a master at dressing in a pinch."

"Excellent. Breakfast is on the table when you're ready."

The door clicked closed and Ron pulled the pants free of the drawer. He threw on his dressing robe and tied it shut before opening the door and rushing down the hall to the bathroom on the end. After a quick scrub under the shower's hot spray, he hurried back to his room where he dressed hastily in his new school uniform. Navy trousers, white shirt, navy tie with grey stripes, and a navy jumper with a line of grey around the collar, bottom and cuffs. He ran his fingers quickly through his still wet hair before glancing in the mirror. He straightened the bottom of his jumper and squared his shoulders.

The thought brought a slight flush to his cheeks, but if anyone bothered to ask him he would have to admit that he thought he looked quiet good. Blue was a nice colour on him, much better than maroon had ever been.

He pulled on his usual three pairs of socks and his shoes before hefting his new rucksack off the floor and hoisting the strap over his shoulder and into place. He glanced one last time in the mirror to be certain he was well put together before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He knew he was supposed to make his bed everyday, but hopefully today the Grangers would let it pass, it being the first day of school. But just in case, the door would remain closed until he returned in the afternoon and could rectify it.

Ron rubbed his hands together briskly as he clumped down the stairs. His fingers were still almost numb with cold but it seemed to be getting better. It had been almost two days since the tips had ached with it. He blew his hot breath inside his cupped hands. What he wouldn't give for a Warming Spell.

Ron pushed open the door to the kitchen and found Mr Granger sitting at the table alone, a cup of tea in one hand, the daily news in the other. At the sound of the door swooshing open, he glanced over the top of the broadsheet to see Ron moving toward the table. "Morning, Ron."

"Good morning, Mr Granger."

"Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Ron responded as he slid into his chair and pulled a plate filled with fresh toast toward him. He took up a slice and spread some jam from a nearby jar onto it. He didn't want to risk losing too much of his stomach today in front of his new classmates. "Where's Mrs Granger?"

Melvin, who had returned to reading his paper, sent a quick glance around the room. "Jane? She must be changing her clothes again."

"Again? How many times has she changed them?"

"At least three times this morning. She wants to make certain she makes a good impression when she brings you to school today."

"Oh." Ron bit into his toast and chewed the sticky confection until there was nothing left to do but swallow. "Mr Granger?" he ventured cautiously. "What is Muggle school like?"

Melvin glanced at Ron over his cup, sighed and set the paper on the table, folding it neatly as he did, all the while giving Ron a considerate look. "I'm not exactly sure how to answer that question, Ron. It's been a long time since I was in school myself, and Hermione's been at Hogwarts for the past seven years. But from what I remember about the letters Hermione sent home at the beginning of first year, it's not that much different from Hogwarts - the structure at least, not the subject-matter. Listen Ron," he tossed the paper aside. "I promise that I will do everything in my power, short of cheating, to make your studies easier. Don't worry. I can say with full honesty that there will be students in your class who have gone to a Muggle school all their life who will know less and do worse than you. Just do your best. That's all Jane and I, and I'm sure your parents, can ask for."

Ron nodded and tried to take another mouthful of toast, but despite the slick jam he had smeared on the top, it felt dry and brittle going down. He took a drink of chilled orange juice to help the process and was delighted to find that the juice was easy to drink. He took another generous gulp, finishing over half the glass in two swallows.

Just then, Jane scurried into the kitchen trying to jab the post of an earring through her lobe, missing twice before finally sliding it through. "Are you finished eating?" she asked as she slid the back into place while trying to glance at her watch. "We should have left five minutes ago."

"Yeah." Ron stood up, polishing off his glass as he did. "I'm ready."

"Good luck today, Ron," Mr Granger said as he finished the last of his tea.

"Right," Ron muttered as he followed Mrs Granger out the door. "I'm going to need it."

__

"This is your class roster. Here's your timetable, teachers' names beside the subject and room." Ron's eyes widened as he accepted page after page of crisp sheets of white paper from the woman whose name he had not quite caught. Ms Rink, he thought she said her name was, but was so overwhelmed at the moment that he couldn't make his brain stop and think about it. "Your first class of the day is with Mr Knightly; Literature. We're a small school, as I'm sure you've noticed, and all your lessons will be with the same students. If you stick with them you should make it to every lesson just fine. If not, ask another student for directions and I'm sure they'll help you."

The woman, who had her black hair pulled back in a stern bun and was dressed in a mud-coloured skirt suit, stopped beside a closed door. "This is your first classroom. Room two-thirteen. Do you have any questions you would like to ask before I leave you here?"

"No." He shook his head uncertainly. "I don't think so."

"Very good. If you should find later that you do, you can find me in the front office. Good day, Mr Weasley."

She nodded her head curtly before turning and leaving him standing alone in the corridor looking through the window at his new classmates. The panic that had come over him days ago was back and it was building up inside him like a tidal wave, ready to come down and smother the life out of him. The longer he stood there and watched, the worse the anxiety grew.

He couldn't do this. He didn't belong here. He was Ronald Bilius Werasley, sixth son in a long line of wizards, for Merlin's sake. Every ounce of him was magic. What did he know about being a Muggle? How could they possibly expect him to survive like this? He shouldn't be in a Muggle school. He should be back at Hogwarts, where he belonged.

Somehow, through the haze of misery and anxiety that was swarming around him he heard a voice in the back of his head that sounded surprisingly like Hermione telling him to calm down and buck up. He was a Gryffindor after all, the voice yelled, where was his courage? Back at Hogwarts, he thought fleetingly as he squared his shoulders and set his hand on the handle to pull open the door to the classroom.

In the time it took for the door to close, Ron had made a quick assessment of the room, using the skills he had acquired in the few short months he had been searching with Harry and Hermione for Horcruxes. He knew there were roughly twenty other students in the class. They were sitting at individual desks that faced the front of the classroom where a man of diminutive stature with large eyes magnified behind great, wire-framed spectacles stood behind a podium that was that much too tall for him. He had a weathered face, salt and pepper hair which was parted on the left side and combed close to his scalp. The man's grey eyes spotted Ron and his lips parted into a warm smile that showed every one of his crooked, slightly yellowed teeth.

"Ahhh," the man spread out his hands in a welcoming gesture, "this must be Mr Weasley." Twenty odd heads turned and pinned him with curious eyes. "I was just telling the students that you would be joining us today. Come in, come in." He gestured to Ron. "Don't be shy." He stepped around his podium and wove his way through the desks to the back of the room where Ron remained standing, frozen like a statue under the unwavering stares. He extended his short wrinkled hand to Ron and when the tall boy took it, he shook it vigorously. "Welcome to Willow Creek Academy. It's a pleasure to have you with us." Mr Knightly released his hand and took a step back. "Why don't you come up to the front of the room and tell us a little about yourself?"

"Umm…" Ron stammered as Mr Knightly drew him to the front of the room and set him behind the podium, taking a step back to allow him to have centre stage. "Hi," his voice cracked when the eyes continued to stare expectantly at him. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley and…" he turned to his teacher and asked, "What exactly is it you want me to say?" There was a quiet rupture of snickers aimed at him.

"Why don't you start by telling us where you are from? What brings you to Willow Creek? What are some of your hob…?"

"I got it." Ron interrupted, holding up his hand to silence the excited teacher. "With a sigh he turned back to the class. "As I said, I'm…I'm Ron Weasley. I've lived in Ottery St. Catchpole my entire life. I have five brothers, one sister…no, wait. Make that two sisters. My oldest brother got himself married over the summer holidays. I've come to Willow Creek because I am staying with friends of my family, the Grangers. And as for hobbies, I don't really have any. I reckon. I'm all right at chess. But other than that…" Ron shrugged his shoulders up around his ears while looking over at Mr Knightly. "I think that has to be about it. Is there anything else you would like me to say?"

"No, no," the old man said happily, returning to his podium with a dramatic flourish. "That'll do. That'll do. You can take your seat now. There, next to Mr Grayson." He steered Ron toward the only empty seat remaining in the room. Front row, centre. He cringed as he moved to take his place. Front row, centre? Why did he get the feeling that that particular seat was left open specially for him today?

"You'll be glad to know," Knightly continued when Ron had taken his seat, "that you have come at an excellent time. We have just begun our section on epic poetry. We've decided to try something challenging this term so we're going to be reading John Milton's _Paradise Lost._ Have you read it?"

"No, sir." Ron shook his head. "I haven't. What's it about?"

"That's why we're going to read it, my boy." He pointed his finger at the ceiling with a dramatic flourish. "To discover. Miss Ness," he turned sharply, "would you mind retrieving a copy for Mr Weasley?"

"Of course not, sir."

Ron turned to see a girl with warm, coffee-coloured skin, bright, brown eyes, and hip-length, black hair rise to her feet, slide open the door to a cupboard standing beside her and crouch low to plunge her hand inside. Within seconds she was pulling back, her fingers curled around a heavy, hard-covered copy of the text. She slid the door back into place before she gracefully turned and straightened to her full height in one smooth motion. She took the few steps that separated her from Ron and deposited the book in his hand.

"Thank you." He nodded his head politely.

"You're welcome." Her lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile before she turned to make her way back to her seat.

"Now, class please open your books to page six. We'll read the introduction on John Milton's life and works together. Mr Weasley," he smiled kindly at Ron, "would you mind reading the first paragraph aloud?"

"Umm," Ron fumbled the pages through his large fingers, blushing a deep red when some of the other students snickered at him. "John Milton," he coughed twice to clear his throat, "1608 – 1674, is considered one of the greatest poets of the English language."

__

Ron stopped just outside the doors of the school building. He squinted his eyes against the sun and scanned the grounds in search of a nice secluded spot where he could make his retreat. He needed a chance to be alone and let his guard down. He hadn't realised how difficult it would be to keep from slipping and showing how ignorant he was of the Muggle world and how out of place he was because of his roots.

Just this morning Ron had made a fool of himself when Mr Knightly had handed him a stack of papers held together by a thin bit of shiny metal. Intrigued, Ron had stared at it a good minute and a half until the girl sitting behind him was no longer able to stifle her laughter. Feeling like an idiot, he had set the papers on his desk, covered his eyes with his hand, and sunk low in his seat. 'No staring at barmy Muggle objects in public,' he reminded himself silently. 'No staring at barmy Muggle objects in public.' He just knew, with all certainty, that he was going to slip up sooner or later and then there would be real hell to pay.

Ron took in the layout of the school yard. Only his class and the class directly below it were out at this time, it being their designated break. It was quite obvious in the way people moved and how comfortable they were in their surroundings that they had their usual spots that they sat in every day.

For instance, a group of boys that he recognised from his class took up an entire bench between the four of them. They sat on the back rest with their large feet soiling the bench with mud. And sitting on the steps a few paces from him was a group of girls he didn't recognise. They were huddled together in a tight clump, their faces tilted in toward each other. Another group of girls, he noticed, had strategically chosen their place at the base of a picturesque water fountain that sat in the middle of the lush property. Another large group of mixed students sat in the shade of the mammoth hedge that bordered the lawns.

Missing his two best friends now more then ever, Ron sighed and took a step off the main stairs. He had found what he was looking for. To his right, peeking out just around the side of the building, was a cluster of white stone benches organised in a large circle. They were situated in a clear patch of grass which meant, to Ron's delight, there was not an ounce of shade covering them.

He hurried across the grounds to the bench that sat the farthest away from the school and settled his weight on it. When he felt the warmth of the sun begin to penetrate the fabric of his jumper he leaned back until he was lying across the length of the seat. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the warm rays of the sun, revelling in the feel of its warm embrace.

He had just felt the first tingle of sleep's gentle tendrils alight on his brain when a shadow settled over his face and wrenched him out of his restful state. His eyes flew open, his hand thrust into his pocket and he lunged into a sitting position, nearly colliding skulls with the person standing over him.

"Oi!" came an affronted female voice. "Would you watch what you're doing? You nearly hit me!"

"What were you doing crouching over me like that?" Ron pulled his empty hand out of his pocket.

"I was checking to see if you were all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh… I don't know," she said derisively. "Maybe because it's bloody hot out here and you're lying there in direct sunlight wearing a heavy jumper and trousers. What could I possibly have been thinking? I'm surprised you haven't passed out from heat exhaustion."

Ron adjusted his jumper so that it sat bellow his belt line. "I'm fine." He flung his right leg over the bench so that he sat facing his intruder. "I was just enjoying the sunshine when you…" the words died on his lips and his spine snapped straight in surprise. He hadn't expected the girl snarling unattractively at him to be so lovely.

She had large, bright amber eyes, a straight elegant nose, high cheekbones, delicately- arched brows, full lips that turned up naturally in the corner and framing her charming face was a head of hair alive with colour. It was a warm honey brown with strands of gold and copper shot through. She wore it parted on the right and cropped short at her chin, framing her face.

Even through the numbing effect of her striking beauty Ron realised there was something oddly familiar about the girl. Almost like he had seen her before. He knew it wasn't from seeing her during lessons; somehow he must have missed her for surely he would not have forgotten a face as enchanting as hers. No, he decided, it had to be somewhere else.

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest and tapped her toe impatiently. "Are you quite through staring at me?"

"What?" A red flush of embarrassment engulfed his face in bright colour. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I mean, you took me by surprise, is all." He stammered. "It's just…there's something very familiar about your face. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

The girl's features relaxed out of her angry glare. "Well, that's something I haven't heard before. Although I can't say I didn't expect it." She turned on her heal and took the open seat next to him. "You said your name was Ron Weasley, right?" He nodded dumbly. "Weasley's not a very common name, is it?" she persisted.

"No." he shook his head. "I don't suppose it is."

"And _who_ did you say you were staying with?"

"Jane and Melvin Granger." He cocked his brow at her. "Why do you ask?"

"No re-"

"Granger? I thought I heard you say that name before." Ron and the girl both turned to find the four boys that had been sitting on the bench across the yard standing in front of them, nasty scowls on their faces. "This wouldn't be Beaver's family we're talking about, would it?"

Ron's eyes narrowed on the brown haired boy and his companions who flanked him on three sides, laughing at his lame attempt at insult.

"Excuse me." Ron rose slowly to his feet. "What exactly do you mean by Beaver?"

"You know," he laughed. "Beaver!" He brought his right hand up to his face and pointed two fingers down to represent two overly large buck teeth. "Hermione Granger. Beaver."

Ron's jaw stiffened and his mouth parted slightly revealing his painfully clenched teeth. "You shut your mouth."

The laughter of the boy and his three friends grew louder. "Tell me, is Granger just as ugly and obnoxious as she always was? Ohh, ohh." He flung his hand up in the air and waved it around. "Pick me, pick me. I know the answer. I always know the answer. Ohh, ohh." One of the boys behind him collapsed onto his shoulder, tucking his watering eyes into his hand. "Who did you piss off that you got that kind of sentence?"

"I said shut up!" Ron yelled, his hands curling into fists at his side. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

A flicker of delight appeared in the average sized boys eyes. "What's this?" He leaned in close to take a good luck at Ron's outraged face. "If I didn't know any better I would guess that you fancy Beaver. But that's impossible. Who in their right mind could possibly fancy that pitiful little know-it-all?"

"Pitiful!" Ron's lips separated into a menacing sneer. "I'll show you pitiful." He made a lunge for the other boy, drawing back his fist to take a swing but stopped when he saw the girl he had been talking to jump between them.

"Nigel! Ron! Stop this at once."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Ron shouted savagely over her shoulder. "Hermione is one of the greatest people I have ever known."

"What's the matter, Weasel?" Nigel taunted. "Need a girl to defend you?"

"Weasel?" Ron snorted as the girl tried to draw him back. "Congratulations on originality. The last person who called me that came up with it in first-year."

It took a moment for Nigel to understand what Ron had said, but the instant it clicked in to place it was written plain on his infuriated face. "Are you calling me stupid?" he yelled, oblivious to the group gathering around them.

"If the wand fits?"

Nigel pushed the girl out of his way and took a hold of Ron by the collar of his shirt. "I think I need to explain to you how things work around here."

"No need." Ron pushed firmly against his chest, forcing Nigel to lose his grip. "I know perfectly well how you think things should work. Well I'm warning you, don't try and pull any of your bollocks with me. You don't scare me, you ugly tosser. If you had seen half the things I have seen, or done half the things I have done, you wouldn't be scared of you either. And I'm warning you now," he straightened to his full, intimidating height, "Never insult Hermione Granger. Do you understand? She is the kindest, bravest, most beautiful wi-person I have ever known. So I had better not," he jabbed Nigel sharply in the chest, "ever hear you talking bad about her again."

"What's going on over here?" Ron took a step back whilst turning to see the crowd part to let a tall woman who was as thin as a rail march quickly across the lawns toward them. Her hair was soft, dirty blond and cropped short around her ears in a riot of curls. She had a pair of wire framed spectacles that she wore not on her nose but atop her head like a headband, holding her hair in place. When she drew near she gave her head a quick jerk forward and her glasses fell into place on the bridge of her nose.

"Nigel Kelly," she sighed, coming to a stop just inside the circle the other students had made. "Causing trouble again, I see. Why am I not surprised?" Shaking her head, she turned to see who the class bully was tormenting that day. Instead of finding Nigel's usual victim she found a boy with dark ginger hair who stood slightly taller then herself, which was no small feat. She tilted her head up until she met Ron's fiery blue eyes. "You must be our new student. Hello," she extended her hand. "I'm Ms Masterson. What's your name again?"

"Ron Weasley." He took her hand and gave it a curt shake.

"I'm sorry to have to do this to you on your first day of school, Mr Weasley, but I'll need you and Mr Kelly to stay after class so we can straighten this out." She dropped Ron's hand then and turned back to the group. "What are you all standing here for? You're five minutes late for lessons as it is."

The shocked silence that had captivated the group broke and in a rumble of noise they turned as a mass and began to make their way toward their next lesson.

Ron took a moment to take a deep breath and restore his calm before taking up his bag. He was just about to throw it over his shoulder when a strong hand gripped his arm and turned him about. Once again he was staring into the steely blue eyes of Nigel Kelly. "I'm warning you now, Weasley. Stay away from my girl."

Ron looked over Nigel's shoulder to the girl who had sat on the bench next to him several minutes ago. "Funny." He turned his cold blue eyes on Nigel. "I always got the impression that girls belonged to no one. They're not property you know, arse hole."

Ron threw his bag over his shoulder and used his elbow to move past Kelly's toned body. His quick step around the bully was prompted as much by his desire to be away from the boy's presences as it was the shock over what had transpired over the last twenty or so minutes. He didn't know what had come over him. What on earth prompted him to pick a fight on the first day of school with the one person he knew he didn't want to be on the bad side of? All he knew for certain was that when Nigel Kelly started in on Hermione he had seen red.

Ron stumbled in his step as he came to a sudden realisation. He glanced back over his shoulder at Kelly and his cronies. These were Hermione's first classmates. That mindless prat back there was more then likely the reason why his words on Hallowe'en back in first year had hurt her so much. Nigel Kelly had more than likely tormented her for years, right up until she had left for Hogwarts.

Ron's chin stiffened with resolve as he turned back around. If what he assumed turned out to be true, he would have to have a word with Mr Kelly.


	3. This is a Football

Chapter 3: This is a football.

Ron trailed slowly behind his classmates to the chemistry classroom on the fourth floor. Once through the door he stopped, hands in his pockets, and took in the lay of the room. It was set with rows of tables in the front, two benches per surface, facing a wall covered with three mammoth blackboards. The back of the room where he was standing had several work stations filled with many different tools, most of which he had never seen the likes of before.

Ms Masterson walked briskly through the door, closing it soundly behind her. She stopped next to Ron and gave the class a questioning look. "What are you doing at your seats? You've already wasted enough time as it is. You only have," she glanced at her watch, "an hour and twenty minutes to get your experiment done. Lab sheets are at the stations. Hop to it, then." She clapped her hands briskly to get the class moving.

While the other students rose to their feet and dug through their bags, looking for loose pencils and lab books, Ms Masterson turned to Ron, her glasses once more in place at the top of her head. "Had an exciting first day?"

Ron awkwardly adjusted the shoulder strap of his bag. "You could say that."

Her lip quirked up slightly at the corner. "I must say, Mr Weasley, you do know how to make an entrance." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye with the barest hint of amusement.

"Excuse me?"

Ms Masterson turned to face him fully. "We're a small school, Mr Weasley." She nodded her head toward the class. "Most of these students have been attending lessons together since they were in nappies. They don't take well to change. The last new student who came here struggled for almost three months to find herself a place. It was all she could do to get anyone to talk to her. You, on the other hand, come in here and in less than a day stand up to the one person most of these students have been afraid of their entire lives." She bent her head lower and said with a voice laced with conspiracy, "If you pay attention, Mr Weasley, I think you will find that many of your classmates are either talking about you as we speak or admiring you from afar. Either way, I guarantee you have not gone unnoticed."

"I'm sorry," Ron stammered. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. It's just that…"

Ms Masterson held up a halting hand. "Save your explanations for after class." She smiled kindly when she saw the droop in his shoulders. "I really am sorry, Mr Weasley. I had to ask you to stay so that Mr Kelly can't claim that I treated him unfairly. I've had to deal with Mr Kelly enough times to know that your actions more than likely did not come about unprovoked." She set a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You are not the first student to be goaded into a fight by Nigel Kelly nor will you be the last. But I do believe you are the first one to fight back. Well done."

Ms Masterson suddenly snapped to her full height as if she had been jolted out of a daydream. "Look at me, wasting your time. Drop your things off at an empty table and find yourself a lab partner. I believe station six is usually down a person." She looked up and sighed irritably at the students who were idly waiting at their tables. "This is ridiculous. I've already told you to get started." She clapped her hands. "Hop to it!" She strode away, ushering students to their stations as she went.

Ron deposited his sack at an empty table at the back of the room before quickly riffling through it in search of his lab book and a pencil. His fingers closed around a smooth shaft of cool plastic and a smile came to his lips. He pulled out what he had at first sight thought to be another of those mad, Muggle _pens_ he had seen Hermione use, but which Mrs Granger had assured him was in fact a pencil. He hadn't believed her until she took the utensil out of its shiny, clear plastic and pressed down on the soft end until a thin bit of silver led protruded from the tip.

Ron gave the pencil a satisfying click before taking up his new lab book and moving toward station six. He glanced up as he neared the station and came to a sudden stop. A silent oath escaped his lips. This was just what he needed, another reason for Nigel Kelly to be angry with him. There leaning over the tall workbench, talking to the girl standing on the other side, was the girl he had talked to outside near the stone benches.

Ron cautiously approached the table and set his book down. "Hello."

"Hi." The boy who had sat next to him during Literature extended his hand across the surface for Ron to take. "My name is Logan, Logan Grayson."

Ron gave Logan a good once over before taking his hand. "Ron Weasley."

The other boy was just shy of Ron's height, the top of his head barely reaching Ron's eye level. His hair was long, nearly shoulder length, dark brown and curly. He had a strong chin, dark brown eyes, and a crooked smile.

"Well done, mate." Logan smiled broadly as he released Ron's hand. "Absolutely brilliant, the way you stood up to Kelly like that. Don't think I've ever seen anyone do it before."

The tips of Ron's ears began to turn red. "It was no big deal."

"Wrong. It's a very big deal." Standing beside Logan was the same girl that had got his book for him earlier that day in Knightly's lesson. "Nigel Kelly thinks that because his father is rich he can get away with whatever he wants; and he does because the Headmaster is too scared to do anything about it."

Logan flipped his lab book open with obvious annoyance. "And without Headmaster Edgar behind them the teachers are powerless to do anything."

"Why doesn't the Headmaster support them?"

"Because, Edgar thinks if he does Mr Kelly will pull his support from the school." Logan scowled. "And what would the school do without another H. J. Kelly auditorium?"

"Stupid prat." The dark sinned girl poured a package of indigo and brown stones into a mortar before taking up a pestle to grind at them. "Ugly wanker." Her eyes narrowed at Kelly and his three friends. "Won't leave Lottie alone." She jabbed angrily at the stones, the force of which threw one out of the shallow basin to skittle across the table toward Ron.

"Teresa!" The girl standing to Ron's right seethed through her teeth. '_Stop it,_' he watched her mouth to her friend. She lifted her right brow meaningfully and Teresa, who had been about to speak, shut her mouth and focused on the grinding of the rocks before her.

"Here!" The girl whom Ron now knew must be Lottie handed him a prepared pestle and mortar. "Make yourself useful and grind these."

Not wanting to irritate her any further, Ron took up the pestle and quickly and methodically began grinding the stones into a smooth powder. Sending out a silent prayer of thanks for all those years he had been forced to grind ingredients for Potions, Ron let his hands go through the familiar action while his eyes watched Lottie curiously. He quickly noted how tense and stiff her shoulders seemed to be and how her movements were sharp and rough with anger.

Feeling that her unease and bad humour must have been caused by him, Ron cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if…if I offended you earlier."

"Offended me?" Lottie lowered her lab script so that she could look at him over the top. "What are you talking about?"

"Listen, I've got that look enough times to know when a girl is annoyed with me."

She sighed heavily. "Of course I'm not annoyed with you," She turned to look at him, leaning her hip against the table top. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

Ron said nothing but raised a brow at her, his expression telling her all she needed.

"Oh." Some of the aggression eased from her stance. "Sorry about that." She turned back to the table and lifted the lab script to eye level, giving the illusion she was reading. "Nigel Kelly just makes me uneasy. Somehow he got this maggot into his head last year that if he pestered me enough or threatened me enough I would agree to go out with him." Lottie turned her head to the left, prompting Ron to do so as well. He rolled his eyes when he saw that Nigel and his three cronies were busy setting random objects on fire with a flame that came steadily out of the end of a metal tube. "I wish he would just leave me alone."

Lottie's lip twitched to the side in agitation a moment before she turned her amber eyes on Ron. "Thank you, by the way. For what you did today." She glanced down at the table. "For what you said…about girls."

"What about them?"

Lottie tilted her head to the side in exasperation. "About girls not being anyone's property."

"Oh." The barest hint of colour began to creep along his cheeks. Ron ran his hand across his neck just below the hair line. "You heard that?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Thank you."

"Forget it. It's nothing. If you had ever met my sister, or my friend Hermione for that matter, you wouldn't be surprised." Ron tapped the pestle against the side of the mortar and handed the sample over to Lottie for inspection. "Is that good enough?"

Lottie touched her fingers to the pulverized rock and found the powder was light and soft to the touch. "Yeah," she said with a tint of surprise in her voice. "I think that's good enough." She tilted the mortar slightly so that Logan and Teresa could see the result of Ron's effort. "What do you think?"

"Wow," Teresa grunted, smashing the pastel against her stones. "How did you do that so fast?"

Ron glanced at the multi-coloured powder resting in the shallow basin. "That? Don't know. Had a lot of practice, I reckon. What are we doing, anyway?" he asked as he watched Lottie meticulously begin to scoop the powder into a dish sitting on top of a raised metal contraption.

"Right now I am weighing the ore." She paused to check the digital dial. "And after that we're going to extract the copper out of the rock."

"Oh." Ron nodded his head agreeably despite the fact that he had no clue what she was talking about.

"Here." Sensing his confusion Lottie handed him the lab script without looking up. "Read this. Perhaps it will make more sense."

Ron read through the instructions twice before he thought he had a fairly good understanding of what he was suppose to be doing. He set the lab script aside in time to see Lottie take the powder off the scale and record the weight in her lab notebook. Following her lead, Ron did the same. Twenty minutes later, he and Lottie were waiting for the last of the bright blue liquid to sift through the filter paper, while Logan and Teresa, as well as most of the other students in the class, were just beginning to weigh their coarsely ground samples.

Lottie began to tap the pads of her fingers methodically on the surface of the table while she waited, and with nothing more pressing to do, Ron watched as each finger fell. The tapping suddenly ceased with a light smack of her hand against the surface. "You're very good at this Ron." She said suddenly, surprising him with the unexpected compliment.

"With what?"

"This?" Lottie nodded her head towards their experiment.

"No!" Ron objected with a snort. "Potions was always one of my worst subjects."

"Potions?" Lottie's brows arched high with intrigue. "What an interesting choice of words."

Ron's eyes widened at the realisation of what he had let slip. "Did I say potions?" His voice came out an octave higher with a hint of uncomfortable laughter. "I me-meant chem…chem…chemistry." He popped his fingers when the word finally came out. It's sort of a…ah a joke between me and my friends at my old school. You know…potions…chemistry." He ended with an awkward chuckle, tugging at the collar of his shirt, which seemed to be rapidly tightening around his neck.

"Really?" Lottie turned toward him, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is chemistry the only class you renamed or are there others?"

"Umm…well…I…no. I mean yes. I mean… w-we have others."

"Like what?"

Ron shook his head emphatically. "That's between me and my friends," he offered lamely.

It looked as if Lottie was about to object but Teresa's voice cut in first. "Will you two be quiet?" she begged. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Sorry, Nessy."

"Nessy?" Ron jumped eagerly at the chance to change the subject.

"Yeah." Lottie nodded. "Teresa's last name is Ness. So we call her Nessy. You know, like the Loch Ness Monster.

"The Loch Ness Monster?" Ron stared at her a moment in incomprehension. "Wait. You mean…" he lowered his voice, "how do you know about them?"

"Know about who?"

"The dragons that live in Loch Ness. How do you know about them? I would have thought they would have kept that secret."

"Come off it, Ron." Lottie lowered her voice so the others couldn't hear her. "All Muggles have heard of the Loch Ness Monster. Granted, very few have actually seen it. Many theorise on what it is. I've never heard dragons before, though. That's quite interesting. You have a vivid imagination. "

"You have no idea." Ron rolled his eyes. "Wait." His bright blue eyes snapped toward her suddenly. "What did you say?"

"You have a very interesting imagination."

"No, no. Not that. What did you say about Muggles."

"Muggles?" She chuckled. "What's a Muggle?" Lottie pulled the funnel off the top of the beaker and worked quickly, adding more chemicals to the solution before pouring it through the filter paper again.

Feeling lost and suddenly confused, Ron took up the lab script and stared blindly at it while he tried to process what had just happened. He had to be more careful. That was three times now he had slipped and mentioned the wizarding world. And what of Lottie? He could have sworn he heard her say…

"Ron," she paused a moment as she tilted her head, "have you ever read _The_ _Lord of the Rings_?"

"What?" he straightened at the sound of her voice.

"_The_ _Lord of the Rings_?" She repeated. "It's a very good series. I read all three books a few summers back."

"No." He shook his head. "I don't read unless I have to. Why?"

"I think you should give them a try. They're hard to get into, but you might enjoy them."

"Really?" Ron watched her uneasily. "Why's that?"

"Because, they're about…_magic_." Her brow lifted at the word and she glanced over at him as if to gauge his reaction. "And magical creatures like trolls and elves, dwarves and…_wizards_."

Ron laughed uneasily, pushing his red hair back out of his eyes. "Why would I be interested in stories about that? Magic and w-wizards? What nonsense."

Lottie shrugged. "Maybe to some. But I don't think it is to you." She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. "In fact," she stopped her task and turned to look him straight in the eye, "I think it's very important to you."

"How do you know that?" Ron croaked, finding it more and more difficult to breathe, let alone speak.

"Because, I know you. You're Ron Weasley. You have five older brothers, right?" he nodded. "And two of them are twins by the names of Fred and George. They own a joke shop. You're best friends with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. You're Keeper and Prefect and last year you made a fool of yourself snogging a girl named Lavender Brown every chance you had."

Ron backed a step away from her. "How do you know that?"

"Because my sister told me." She held out her hand. "Hi. My name is Ellette Bell. _Katie Bell's _younger sister," she explained when Ron made no signs of making the connection. "I believe you and my sister were housemates and teammates,"

"I know who Katie Bell is," Ron said sharply. "I just…I didn't know she had a sister."

Lottie shrugged. "Not many know I have a sister either. It's easier that way, don't you think?" Lottie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and that's when Ron saw it.

"Wow. Katie's sister." He shook his head with confusion. "I should have known." He took a step to the left and crouched a little so that he could better see her face. "I can see the resemblance."

"You think so?" She glanced up at him quickly before looking away. "I know we have the same eyes…"

"And mouth, cheeks, chin…I can't believe this." He took another step toward her, bringing him right up to her side. "You know _who_ and _what_ I am?"

"Of course I do." She smiled warmly at him. "You're the Weasley King. Master of the ri…goal!" She amended when she saw Logan watching them with interest. Lottie smiled at her friend. "Ron guarded the goal for his house team at his old school," she explained. "Rumour has it he was quite good."

"No," Ron disagreed, his face flushing pink with embarrassment. "I was only all right. They only had me play because there was no one else."

"That's not what Katie said. She said you were really good. You just suffered from nerves every once in a while. He played on the same team as my sister." She nodded her head toward Ron.

"Wait," Logan eyes widened with surprise. "Boys and girls played football on the same team at your school?"

"Bloody hell, Logan." Teresa rolled herss. "What kind of question is that?"

"What? Boys and girls don't usually play on the same team."

"And you are absolutely hopeless. Lottie tells us Ron played on the same team as her sister and that's what you focus on?"

"Well, what am I _supposed_ to focus on?"

"I don't know. Perhaps that fact that he _knows_ her sister?"

"So?"

Teresa shook her head with disgust. "You're impossible." She turned back to Ron. "So Ron, tell me about Katie. What is she like?

"Wait." Logan's head popped up, his mind finally catching up with the conversation. "You know Katie?"

"Yes."

"Katie Bell?"

"Yes."

"_The_ Katie Bell?"

"Yes, _the_ Katie Bell. Is there suppose to be another one?"

"See, Logan." Teresa jabbed him in the side with her elbow. "I _told_ you she exists."

Ron looked questioningly at him. "Why wouldn't you believe she exists?"

"Because," Logan rubbed at his chest where it was beginning to smart. "No one here has ever seen her. Starting to think Lottie made her up, meself."

"Mr Grayson, Miss Ness. Focus, please." Ms Masterson stopped at their station, a disapproving glare focused on the pair. "You have less then half an hour to finish. Mr Weasley, Miss Bell," she turned to reprimand them as well but the words died in her throat when she saw their extracted copper lying out to dry. She paused a moment before holding out her hand. "May I see your lab books, please?"

"Of course." Lottie quickly took up both of their books and handed them around Ron to the teacher. Masterson made quick work of scanning the pages before handing them back. "Very well. Mr Weasley, your note-taking skills need work. Perhaps if you ask Miss Bell politely she would give you a few pointers. Otherwise, you seem to know what you are doing. Well done. Clean up your station, then go back to your seats."

Following Lottie's lead, Ron closed his lab book and began scrubbing their instruments in the sink. "Ron," Lottie stopped with a beaker only half washed, "What are you doing after school?"

"Me?" he looked over at her. "I'm going back to the Granger's house. Why?"

Lottie's eyes sparkled as a mischievous smile appeared on her lips. "Well, now you're not. You're going to spend the afternoon with me."

"Two hours of detention on your first day of school." Lottie whistled low in her throat. "That has to be some kind of record."

A hog-like snort escaped Ron's throat as he readjusted the strap of his school bag. "Hardly," he said with an enigmatic tone. "Fred and George got _ten_ on theirs."

"Total?" She pushed open the door onto the school yard and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

"Each."

"Each?" Lottie's eyes bugged comically. "How do you get _ten_ hours of detention on your first day of school? There's not even ten hours in a school day!"

"Hell if I know." Ron shrugged indifferently. "I just remember Mum going ballistic when she received that owl from McGongall."

"I can't imagine why," Lottie said sardonically. "It's not like _ten_ hours is an overly exuberant number."

"It isn't," Ron agreed with a meek smile, finding it hard not to chuckle when he saw the incredulous shock on her face. "Not where Fred and George are concerned," he clarified. "Ten hours is nothing in the lake of trouble those two like to swim in."

"I can only imagine," she muttered under her breath. "Katie talks about them a lot, you know. She's always telling Mum and Dad some crazy story about them and the things they get caught up in. Is it really true that they released a swamp inside the school?

"Yep," Ron nodded. "Fifth year, well, their seventh. It was part of their campaign to get rid of Umbridge."

"Seriously? I always thought she was trying to take the mickey out of me. Bloody hell," her eyes widened with admiration, "I think I'd like to meet them. They sound like they're a real laugh."

Ron shrugged and jammed his hands into his pockets, lowering his head to block his eyes from the intense sunlight.

The two walked on in silence until they were beneath the shade of a mammoth tree that stood on a small rise overlooking the expansive school grounds. Following her lead Ron dropped his bag at his feet, folded his arms over his chest, crossed one foot over the other, and leaned his shoulder against the rough bark of the tree.

"Ahhh…" Lottie sighed after dropping her own duffle and flinging her arms out. "Isn't that delicious?" she inhaled deep and sighed at the sight of a man in faded coveralls pushing a machine across the football pitch that left a crisp white line in its wake.

"What?" Ron asked in an obvious state of puzzlement.

Lottie laughed merrily stepping out from underneath the shade of the tree and turning in a slow circle. "The sun… the wind… the clouds. The sent of fresh cut grass and newly laid paint." She turned to him with a warm smile on her lips. "There's nothing like being outside on a day like this."

"If you say so."

Ignoring Ron's lack of response Lottie turned her face up to the sun one last time, breathed deep, then returned to the shade of the tree. Crouching down beside the bag she had dropped, Lottie pulled the zipper and the canvas fell open to reveal a pair of socks, more then one plastic bottle filled with water, strange shoes that had jagged bottoms, a light, shinny shirt in navy blue and a strange ball that was made of patches of black and white material.

Her fingers closed around the smooth, glossy ball and with a quick flick of the wrist sent it high above her head, allowing her enough time to straighten to her full height before bringing up her knee, connecting with the ball, and sending it high once again.

Four times she juggled it off her right knee before getting under it and butting it with her brow toward Ron who was forced to uncross his arms and catch it or have his skull rammed into the trunk of the tree with the force of the impact.

"What is this?" He rolled the ball through and over his hands several times before tossing it back into her waiting fingers.

"This, my friend, is what makes the best game in the world possible. This," she gave the ball a toss in the air, "is a football."

Ron watched with interest as she once again set the ball into motion, bouncing it off her knee, juggling it between her feet, popping it in the air and catching it in her hands.

"You're very good at that," he observed with an appreciative nod of his head.

Lottie beamed at him. "Thanks." Her eyes darted to the side and a slow, calculated smile slid across her face. She took up her duffle, nodded her head to the side and took off toward the pitch, expecting Ron to follow behind her. "Football is my favorite thing in the world," she explained, spinning the ball between her index fingers, watching it rotate with an almost tender smile on her lips. "I almost always have a ball near by. In fact I feel almost… I know this is going to sound crazy, but…I almost feel naked without it." She stole a quick peek to gauge Ron's reaction. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah." He nodded, the fingers of his right hand reflexively tightening, as if curving around the shaft of a wand. "I know exactly what you mean." He stared blindly ahead a few moments before blinking twice and giving his head a firm shake to clear it. "Why is this the first time I've seen you with a ball then? If it were me I would have it on me all the time."

"I did." Lottie sighed dramatically, hugging the ball tight to her side with her arm. "But my parents got so many complaints from teachers about me being a _disruption in class_ because of it that they threatened to pull me from the school team if I were caught in school with it again. So it stays in my duffle until the last bell rings and then it comes out."

"Do Logan and Teresa play?"

A curt shout of laughter burst from Lottie's lips and her eyes gave a decisive roll. "Do Logan and Teresa play? That would be an emphatic yes and an emphatic no."

"What do you mean?"

"Logan," she said, "is in love with the game. If there is a person on this planet who could possibly love football more then me, it would be him. He practices twice as hard and twice as long as the rest of his teammates and demands nothing short of excellence. He was named captain at the ripe old age of thirteen, the youngest person named captain in almost thirty years. You should see the walls of his bedroom. Every inch is covered with posters and pinups and team flags. It's insane."

"Right." Ron nodded. "So he's the emphatic yes which means…Teresa is the emphatic no."

"Spot on." Lottie laughed. "No, Nessy doesn't play. She's an odd case though. She hates to play. You couldn't pay her to take the field."

"Why?"

Lottie rolled her eyes. "Because she hates to run. And I mean _**hates**_ to run. She always says the only way she will ever run is if someone is chasing her with a bat, a gun or a knife. Other than that she doesn't see a point. '_I don't get it,'" _Lottie began in a very poor impersonation of Teresa. "'_Why would anyone want to run up and down a field for hours on end? That isn't fun.'"_

"Okay, Teresa definitely hates football. Got it."

"No, see that's the strange bit. She doesn't hate football. She hates to _play_ football, but she loves to watch. I think she might get more excited watching the game than Logan or I do playing. But then again, fans are always worse than the players."

"So where is Teresa now?"

Lottie sighed and shook her head with disappointment. "Ron, you have _got_ to stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Calling her _Teresa_." She said her friend's name as if it were repugnant to her. "Nobody does that. We all call her Nessy."

"But…but I hardly know her." Ron objected. "It wouldn't feel right."

"Ron." Lottie said smartly. "Who cares if you hardly know her? Her name is Nessy. Remember it. Love it. Use it."

"Fine!" he relented, deciding it was better to give in than to alienate the one person, other than the Grangers, who knew about him and had made an effort to make him feel welcome. "Whatever. Where is _**Nessy**_ now?"

Lottie heaved a great, heartrending sigh as if it mortally wounded her to utter the words. "Dance lessons," she whispered with deride mortification.

"Dance lessons?" Ron asked, clearly not understanding.

"Yes! Dance lessons! " Her hand smacked the side of her leg. "And yet, I'm the crazy one?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nessy," Lottie said throwing her ball over the hip high chain link fence, "has lessons three days a week," she threw her leg up onto the metal pole the fence was suspended from, "for three hours a day." She pushed off the ground with her left foot and was easily up and over the fence, nodding for Ron to follow. "Can you believe that? She would rather spend three hours every other day standing around, tapping her toes, than playing football with me. I know," she bowed her head, but looked up at him with her eyes, "mental, right?"

"I…I don't know," Ron stammered as he swung his legs over the fence, his right shoe catching on the jagged edge, causing him to unbalance and nearly fall. "I thought you said she was at dance lessons."

"She is."

"Then what's she doing standing around tapping her toes for?"

"No, no, no." Lottie tossed her arm over his shoulders and drew him further onto the field all the while shaking her head. "She's tapping her toes because that is a form of dancing. It's called tap dance. See, you wear this special shoe so that when you tap your foot on the floor it makes a great deal of racket. It's just about its only redeeming quality. But Nessy seams to enjoy it so…who am I to complain?" Lottie let her arm drop away from his shoulders. "Such a waste. She could have been an amazing footballer. But at least she's not taking ballet anymore. That was unbearable."

"Why?"

"Because. Ballet is so…so…_girly_."

"All right." Ron nodded, clearly not understanding. "Why'd she quit?"

"I don't know." Lottie shrugged. "No one really does. The best I can work out is that she just got too good." Ron narrowed his eyes incredulously at her. "Look, Nessy was…amazing. I actually watched her dance a few times, you know, friendly support, that kind of thing. Anyway, she was best in her class. Her teachers all thought she had real potential, so they pushed her. They wanted her to do better, to be the best, to go really far. And her mum was even worse. Nagging her to eat right, to practise more, expecting nothing short of perfection until one day Nessy snapped. She'd had enough. She and her mum got in a huge row that ended in tears. She called me at two in the morning, crying her heart out. I calmed her down as best I could and told her that if it didn't make her happy then she should give it up." Lottie shrugged again. "The next day she went to her teachers and quit, found herself another studio and took up tap. And of course she's really good at that as well and I'm certain that when she gets too good, which she undoubtedly will, she'll quit and take up something else. That's just her way, and I love her for it. Although," Lottie toed her ball off the ground and up into her hands, "sometimes I can't believe I am friends with such a _girl_. It's almost sickening. Which is why," she tossed the ball to him. "I'm determined to make friends with you. Guard the goal for me?"

Ron looked at the ball in his hands and the goal that was standing large and proud behind them. "You want me to guard that?"

"Yep." She pulled his bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground next to hers. "Katie said you were a great Keeper, when you were on form. I want to see it for myself. Come on," her fingers circled around his arm and drew him toward the goal, "it'll be fun." She promised throwing him off with her fetching smile.

"Bu…bu…but I've only ever guarded Quidditch hoops."

"So?"

"_Sooo…_ it's completely different. I guard three hoops while on a broom fifty feet in the air."

"Which means," she persisted, "one goal on the ground should be much easier." She deposited him in the centre of the goal and snatched the ball from his long fingers, not giving him a chance to protest. She took a few paces back. "I'm going to start easy on you," she set the ball on the ground, "let you get a feel for the game before I step it up a pace. How does that sound?"

"Umm…"

Without waiting to hear his response she drew back her foot and sent the ball speeding toward the net. Instinctively Ron lunged to the right after it. His fingers slid around the smooth surface and he caught the ball easily. He looked down at his hands in surprise before glancing up at Lottie. His look of astonishment and elation morphed into a glare of annoyance. "Oi." He tossed the ball back. "You couldn't give me a warning first?"

Lottie stopped the ball with her body so that it dropped at her feet. "Where would the fun be in that? Besides," she bumped the ball back into the air, "no striker gives a warning before he tries for a goal." Her foot connected soundly and the ball soared toward the upper right corner of the net.

Ron crouched low then sprung up like a spring and snatched the ball out of the air, pulling it securely to his chest. However, by the time he noticed he was going to collide with the goal post, it was too late.

His shoulder rammed painfully into the metal frame, stopping his sideward progress and causing him to fall heavily to the ground, a painful grunt escaping his lips upon impact.

"Ron!" Lottie cried, running forward and flinging herself at his side with concern. "Ron, are you all right?"

Slowly, the redhead turned over from his side onto his back, his hands still holding the ball to his chest. "I caught the ball." He smirked.

"You stupid prat." She hit him sharply on the shoulder. "You don't have to catch the ball every time, just stop it from going in the net. Keep doing stupid stunts like that and you're going to hurt yourself."

Ron tossed the ball to the side before pushing himself into a sitting position, his eyes bright with mirth. "Lottie, I've fallen off a flying broom. Compared to that, what's a few feet?"

"We'll _I've_ seen experienced players take a fall like that and dislocate their shoulder. So don't," she jabbed him in the chest, "be smug."

"What does dislocate mean?"

The girl stared with mild surprise. "You don't know what dislocate means?"

"No."

"Well… I guess it means your arm and shoulder get painfully separated."

"Completely?" Ron clutched at his arm, his eyes widening in horror.

"No," she couldn't help but laugh, "not completely. I just meant that the two bones pull away from each other, sometimes some muscles tear but your arm doesn't completely come off."

He tested his shoulder by rolling it forward and back. "It feels fine to me."

"This time. Next time you might not be so lucky. Just block the ball, don't worry about catching it."

"Easier said than done." Ron muttered as he rose to his feet.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, it's just…well, you don't have to catch the ball in Quidditch either. It just makes the game easier. You see, you have more control that way. You decide who gets the Quaffle. If you hold on to it you can give your team a chance to catch their breath, or steady themselves on their brooms without having to worry about catching the ball or having another player barreling down on them. Besides, if you don't catch it then the responsibility falls on one of the other teammates and if they miss either the other teams gets the Quaffle or it falls to the ground then you have to fly all the way down there to pick it up and it's just easier if you catch it."

Lottie trotted backwards to the penalty line. "Well, this isn't Quidditch, Ron. You don't have to fly to the ground to retrieve the ball. All you have to do is block the goal. Let's try it again."

Ron crouched low, spreading his feet shoulder length apart, preparing for the ball that would be flying at him any moment. Lottie drew back her foot. Her leg swung forward and her shoe connected with the shinny surface and the ball flew in a low arc toward the goal.

Ron threw his hands up and reflected the ball back to Lottie who instinctively threw herself in the air and with a side swipe of her leg volleyed the ball back at the net. Being father away from the ball then he had been the last time Ron was forced to lunge after it and barely caught it at the tip of his fingers before landing on the ground.

"You see?" he grunted as he rolled to his feet. "If I _block_ the ball there's a chance I won't be ready the next time the Chaser tries for a point. But if I catch it," he gave the ball a small toss, "I also have some time to relax and catch my breath."

"Fine." Lottie rolled her eyes and caught the ball when Ron tossed it to her. "Just shut up and block the net."

Ron smiled with satisfaction as he readied himself. He was right and Lottie knew it. As if she was able to read his thoughts, her eyes narrowed and the ball flew suddenly straight for his head.

The two teenagers set into a rigorous rhythm of kick and catch. When it became apparent to both Ron and Lottie that he was more competent on his feet than they had thought, Lottie picked it up a pace and tried her best to get the ball past him. With each failed attempt at a goal the honey-haired girl became more determined and Ron more elated. He seemed almost unstoppable.

Only once did Lottie come close to scoring on Ron. The ball had flown high and fast toward the top left corner of the goal. If he had jumped a second later he would have missed completely. As it was, the very tips of his fingers made contact with the ball, jarring it off course enough that it hit the metal frame and bounced off, landing at Lottie's feet.

"Damn, Weasley," Lottie pushed her sweat slicked hair back off her face. "Are you sure you never played before?"

A slow, sloppy grin spread across his lips. "Nope." He shook his fringe of hair back out of his eyes. "Never." The strands of red fell back in place and Lottie watched intently as he lifted his hand and pushed them back once more to reveal his bright blue eyes. They were all but glowing with an intense inner fire. If Lottie had known Ron as well as Harry and Hermione did she would have recognised the gleam as the one he got whenever he was having the most fun.

"Weasley!" Ron looked up and Lottie spun around to see Logan Grayson jogging toward them, his smile visible from half a pitch away. He raised his hand in greeting. "Hello Lottie." He greeted his friend with a nod.

"Logan." She nodded back.

"Weasley," Logan's hands clapped together then rubbed vigorously like a child eager for an expected treat. "Go change. Practice starts in ten minutes."

The half smile that had worked its way onto Ron's lips faded into a perplexed frown. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" Logan laughed mirthlessly while jabbing his thumb in Ron's direction. "Can you believe this guy? Defends the net against one of the best strikers I've ever seen, doesn't let a single goal in, and asks _me_ what I'm talking about." Logan shook his head, his excited smile still firmly in place. "I was watching you, Weasley. You're good. Really good. I assume you'll want a trial. If it were up to me I'd just give you the slot, but Coach likes to do things fair. Give every one a chance."

"Wait, wait, wait." Ron held up his hand to stop Logan's rambling tongue. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

"Look Weasley," Logan stepped toward him, "if you want me to beg…just say the word and I will."

"That won't be necessary, Logan," Lottie chipped in brightly. "Ron," she placed a hand on his shoulder drawing his confused expression off of Logan and onto herself. "Do you have something you can change into?"

"Wha- no. I wasn't planning on…"

"I didn't think so." She cut him off. "Logan," she jerked her head toward the school building, "you go find him some clothes to wear. He'll be there in a minute."

"Great." Logan clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Don't take too long though. Coach hates to be kept waiting."

With that settled Logan turned and trotted away, his arms pumping lightly at his side.

"What the hell?" Ron rounded on the smiling Lottie the moment Logan was out of range. "Did you just tell him that I would play for his mad Muggle team?"

Lottie beamed proudly at him. "Yes, I did."

A dark shade of crimson started at Ron's neck and spread quickly over his face, his features tightening with fury. "Why did…Who do you…What gives you the right? I never said I wanted to play."

"Well why not?" She crossed her arms smartly over her chest. "What else have you got to do after school?"

Ron opened his mouth to retort but stopped mouth agape. He couldn't think of a single thing. He had school work of course, but without Harry and Hermione here for company or the Horcrux search to help with, he was at a complete loss of what to do with himself. "That's not the point," he said argumentatively. "I don't need a trial because I'm not going to be here very long."

"You're not?" The smug look on Lottie's face disappeared "Why? Are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"Yes. No. Maybe..." He corrected at her pointed look. "I hope so. But even if I never go back I'm only staying in school through March, then I'm out of here."

"Let me get this straight," Lottie's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to try out for the football team because you are going to wait, in the vain hope that someday you can return to the wizard world."

"Yep." Ron nodded. "That sounds about right."

"But that doesn't make any sense. What if you never go back to Hogwarts? What if you're stuck here for the rest of your life? What are you going to do? Sit around the Granger's house, eat crisps and watch TV?"

"I never…"

"How foolish of me," she cut in over him, "to actually think you might want to have fun and make a few friends. Thank you, Ronald for stopping me before I wasted anymore of my time trying to be yours." She paused long enough to toe the ball onto the top of her foot and flick it into the air, catching it smoothly in her hands.

"Lottie!" Ron called after her when she turned on her heel and walked quickly across the field toward the stands. Feeling a deep pang of guilt he went after her. "Lottie, wait! Lottie, please stop." He reached out a hand when he caught up with her and placed it on her shoulder. "You weren't wasting your time."

"Really?" She gave her shoulder a violent jerk, dislodging his hand. "Does that mean you won't drop me like yesterdays socks if Hogwarts comes calling wanting you back?"

"Please," Ron stopped, eyes rolling. "Like you would ever let that happen." Instead of chuckling like Ron half expected she ignored him and continued on toward the tunnel underneath the massive cement structure that made up the bleachers. "Listen, you have no idea what is going on right now. There's a war. Harry and Hermione, they need me."

"Then what are you doing here?" Lottie spun on him suddenly.

She watched him physically retract inside of him. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Then don't blame me for not understanding." She punctuated each word with a jab to the chest.

"Lottie," he took after her once again but she disappeared behind a door labeled 'Ladies' before he could stop her. "Lottie, please," He pounded on the door. "I need your help. I don't know what I'm doing."

Ron jumped back from the ladies locker room at the sound of the door behind him groaning open. Logan's head appeared a second later. "Weasley," he stepped into the passage "Come on. I found a pair of track bottoms and a shirt for you to wear."

"Logan, look…I don't think…" What ever excuse he was about to make as to why he couldn't try out for the team died in his throat. Lottie had a point. He was of no help to Harry here. If he were completely honest, he was never any help to Harry. Everything he did and touched ended in disaster. Take in point his current situation. If he had just been more careful he might not be here. And honestly, now that he was, what were the chances he would get to go back? The Ministry didn't seem optimistic about his case; not a single official he had spoken with thought there was anything that could be done. All signs pointed to him being trapped here in the Muggle world for a very long time. What more did he stand to lose by trying to fit in?

"I…I don't think those clothes are going to fit me," he said lamely.

Logan glanced at the hunter orange bottoms and lime green top and chuckled. "Size is the least of your problems, mate." He tossed the garments to Ron. "Bring your own clothes tomorrow and it won't be an issue."

"Who say's I'm coming back tomorrow?"

"If Coach Mansfield has anything to say about it you will."

Free of her constricting school uniform and suited up for her own football practice later that afternoon, Lottie found a place on the top row of benches in the stadium, directly in front of the announcer's booth. She leaned back against the box, braced her feet on the next bench, set her wrists atop her knees and spun her football between her two index fingers. She was still angry with Ron, but seeing as he had agreed to a trial when he really didn't want to play, she would stay and watch. For… moral support and stuff. Besides, something about the tall redhead intrigued her. In some ways he was exactly the way Katie described him. Tall, ginger-haired, bright blue eyes, lopsided grin and a quirky sort of handsomeness about him. And yet he was so very different.

Katie described him as loud and funny and someone who often spoke without thinking. This Ron wasn't any of those things. He was quiet and excluding that scene in the schoolyard today with Nigel Kelly, quite reserved, never saying anything brash. Every thought was meticulously examined before spoken. Of course this drastic change could be attributed to his need for secrecy. One little slip and the average person would want to send him packing straight into the mental institution. She would have to keep an eye on him. In the heat of the moment Kelly hadn't caught his slip up about wands and witches, but she had. And who knew what the others who had been listening had heard.

For reasons she didn't quite understand, she felt protective of Ron Weasley. Something bad had happened to him recently; she didn't know how she knew, but she did, and if he let her she would try and make his stay here easier. But that didn't mean she was going to let him walk all over her and take her for granted.

Lottie sat up when she spotted Ron's tall frame jogging onto the field dressed in the most horrendous combination of orange bottom and green top she had ever seen. Neither colour did anything for his complexion and both shades contrasted hideously not only with each other, but with his hair.

Logan, who was standing near a bald man with thick black spectacles wearing a navy tracksuit, lifted his hand and motioned Ron over to him. As the redhead approached, Coach Mansfield extended his hand, which Ron immediately reached for and shook exuberantly.

From where Lottie sat she couldn't hear what was being said, but after listening to the coach intently for several minutes, nodding his head every once in a while, Ron and Logan took off at a steady pace around the field. The shrill sound of the coach's whistle vibrated off the thick walls of the stadium and the team instantly organized itself into lines. While Ron and Logan ran laps, the boys performed drills. They were like a smooth machine, working as one, their movements precise and clean.

Ron and Logan were just beginning their sixth and final lap when Lottie heard her name called from the right. Two of her fellow teammates were climbing the steps toward her.

"Brenda? Sarah?" Lottie straightened in her seat. "What are you doing here?"

The two girls sat on the bench at Lottie's feet, their inside legs tucked up underneath them so that they could sit turned in facing each other.

Brenda, a pretty girl with dark brown hair, highlighted with thick chunks of blond, snapped her gum between her brightly painted lips. "Jon and Brian have practice."

"We always stay and watch," Sarah chimed in, pulling out a tube of colored lip gloss and applying it to her lips. "The real question is what are _you_ doing here?"

Lottie directed their gaze to Ron who was stretching his arms over his head as he moved into position in front of the goal. "Logan convinced Mansfield to give Ron Weasley a trial."

"Really?" Two brows arched high as the girls spun simultaneously to better face the field.

"I didn't know the new boy played." Even with Sarah's back to her, Lottie knew the bleach-blonde girl's eyes were raised in interest.

Below them on the field the boys had broken from drill formation and were now gathering in a semi circle around the goal with the five highest scorers lining up at the penalty line.

Brenda turned to question her but Lottie made a slashing motion with her hand. "Shh, I'm trying to watch this."

She knew Coach Mansfield's style. He was going to put Ron under heavy artillery. If he couldn't stand up to the pressure Coach wanted to know now. For the next ten minutes Ron was going to be put under a grueling drill of continuous goal tending. The five kickers, Colin, Mike, Ben, Blake and Logan, would kick goals, one after the other while the rest of the team retrieved the balls and set them. All Ron had to do was stop the balls going in the net.

At the coach's nod Colin took a step back, preparing to let fly the first kick. His foot connected solidly with the ball and it sprung like a bullet toward the left side of the net.

Ron stood there, frozen, as the ball came speeding closer. For a moment it seemed like he would let the ball sail into the net without making any effort to stop it but then he sprung into action. With lightning fast reflexes he lunged to his side, snatched the ball easily out of the air, tucked his body around it which gave him the momentum to roll to his feet and toss it back to Colin.

The moment the ball left his hands another came soaring toward the goal. After watching Ron catch or deflect the next six attempts, Lottie eased back in her seat, a smug smile on her lips. Ron was going to be just fine.

After ten minutes of punishing assault by footballs, Ron failed to save only one goal. After catching and releasing the final attempt Ron hunched over his knees, his breath coming in short, heavy pants. "Bloody hell," he groaned, pushing his hair back off his face to cover the quick swipe of his hand against his brow to clear away the gathering sweat.

A large shadow fell over him. He glanced up to find Coach Mansfield standing there, hands planted on his hips, face blank of any expression. Ron straightened uncomfortably. He ran an observant eye over Ron, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "These aren't your clothes, are they, son?"

"No, sir," Ron panted. He anchored his hands at his hips, his chest still heaving from the effort to pull in air.

"Make sure you have your own boots and your own clothes tomorrow." Mansfield turned to join his team, who had gathered at centre field.

"What?" Ron started with surprise.

Mansfield turned around with an annoyed expression on his intimidating face. "What are you still doing standing here? Go and join your teammates for practice."

Ron stood there a moment unable to move. "You mean… I made the team?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" He jabbed his finger firmly toward the mass of bodies. "Go and join your team."

"Yes sir." The redhead snapped into motion, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.


	4. Early Morning Breakfast

Chapter 4: Early Morning Breakfast

Melvin Granger glanced over his broadsheet to the mantle clock ticking persistently away. His upper lip twitched as the minute hand settled over the twelve. He snapped his news sheet, hiding his face from his wife. It took all his effort to keep his right foot lying still across his left knee. It was a nervous habit he had, bouncing his foot, one he knew if his wife spotted, she would instantly recognise.

Jane kept herself busy by pacing the length of floor in front of the sitting room window. Every few seconds she would twist her hands painfully together, her eyes never leaving the stretch of walk leading to their front stoop.

School had let out over four hours ago and Ron had not yet made an appearance. Nor had he made a phone call or contacted them in any way to let them know where he was or what he was doing. Neither Granger would admit it, but they were both getting worried.

"This is all my fault." Jane collapsed suddenly onto a plump, burgundy ottoman. "I should have met him after school, made sure he knew his way home. He said he could do it alone but… he could be anywhere. What if he got on the wrong train, Melvin? Or lost his tube pass? Oh God." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "What if he got mugged?" Her right hand clutched tightly at the cushion beneath her, her knuckles turning white with the effort. "What if he's lying in a gutter, bleeding? What if…"

"Jane." The paper crumbled between Mel's hands. "That's enough. I'm sure Ron is fine. There must be a perfectly logical explanation for why he's late."

"But Mel…" Jane stopped at the sound of the front door opening. Her eyes jerked toward the hallway and she jumped up at the sight of Ron walking past the sitting room.

"Ron." She was across the room in an instant pulling the bewildered redhead through the arch and into her arms, smothering his face against her shoulder. "Thank God you're all right." Her fingers stroked his fiery hair almost lovingly. "We were so worried. You could have been anywhere." She pushed him slightly from her and clamped her hands on his cheeks in a distinctly maternal gesture. "Are you all right?"

Ron nodded, struck momentarily dumb by her bizarre reaction. "I'm…I'm fine."

"Where have you been? When you didn't return after school we thought - well, no matter what we thought. I'm just so glad that you are here and that you're safe."

"I'm sorry." His apology was muffled from the tight grip Jane still had on his face. "I didn't mean to make you worry," he assured her. "I was at football practice."

"Football?" Jane's hands fell away. "I didn't know you had any interest in football."

"I didn't." Ron's face darkened under her close scrutiny. "But Lottie thought I should give it a try so I…"

"Lottie?" Jane's left brow arched. "Who's Lottie?"

Ron shrugged indifferently. "Girl at school. Anyway, Lottie thought I should give it a try, seeing as I was the Keeper for Gryffindor and all, so I did. Coach wants me to come back tomorrow but he said I had better have my own boots and gear. But… but I don't know what that is and I don't think I have any."

Melvin coughed in the back of his throat. "We'll discuss that later." He refolded his newspaper and set it slowly on the small table at his side. He braced his elbows on the arms of the chair, bridged his fingers together and pinned Ron with a pointed look. "Ronald, I understand that you're seventeen and no longer used to checking in and answering to adults, but this is my house. And I expect certain considerations while you are here."

"Sir?"

"One," he held up a single finger, "if for any reason you are detained after school we insist that you call us and let us know why. It will save us the stress of worrying about you. Two," another finger joined the first, "I did tell you we expect you to help with household chores, did I not?"

"Yes sir," Ron nodded. "You did."

"What day do we do chores on?"

"Monday."

"And today is?"

"Monday," Ron said guiltily. "I'm sorry sir." His shoulders sagged forward. "I forgot. But I promise, it won't happen again."

"It's all right, Ron." Mel pushed to his feet and crossed the small gap that separated him from the teenager. He clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "We'll let it pass this time."

"You will?" Ron's head jerked up with surprise, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes," Mel nodded at his wife who beamed appreciatively at him. "I imagine you forgot with the excitement of making the football team."

"Yeah," a timid grin spread across his lips, "I did. I never knew Muggle sports could be so much fun. But sir," the smile began to fade, "I don't know how to play football."

"You don't know how to play football?" Melvin repeated.

"No sir. I don't. Logan asked me to try out and Lottie told him I would and there wasn't time for her to explain how it's played, and now I don't think she'll talk to me and…"

"But you still made the team?"

Ron nodded, mouth left agape. "Yes sir."

"What position?"

"Keep… I mean, goalie."

"Hmmm…" Melvin's pose relaxed as the familiar flicker of interest Ron had seen so many times on Hermione's face appeared on his. "Hermione explained Quidditch to me once. It was that summer she joined your family for the World Cup. If I understand your Quidditch correctly, Keeper is very similar to goalie."

"It is, sir. That is why I can do it."

Melvin nodded agreeably. "I see. Well, as far as I'm concerned there's only one thing for it. Jane," he turned to his wife, "if it's all right with you, I think Ron and I need a night out, just the two of us. We can get you some boots, trackies, shirts, the whole lot. Then over dinner I can tell you what I know about the beautiful game. How does that sound?"

Ron stared dumbly at Mr Granger. That was it? No yelling? No lecture? No punishment for being late and missing chores? If this was how it was going to be every time he messed up he might not mind it here. "Yeah," he said, the uncertain smile returning to his lips. "Yeah, all right."

"Go upstairs and change out of your uniform. I want you back down here in ten minutes."

"Yes sir," Ron said excitedly, already making his way toward the steps.

"And Ron," the tall redhead stopped halfway up the staircase, "don't expect to sleep in on Saturday."

"Sorry?"

"I'm assuming now that you're on the football team you'll have practice every Monday after school. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"As I thought." Mel nodded. "Which is why we'll be moving Monday chores to Saturday morning."

It seemed for a moment that Ron would protest but he clamped his lips together instead. He nodded his head to show that he understood before turning to continue his journey. "Mr Granger." He turned back around.

"Yes Ron?" Both the Grangers joined him in the hall.

"I can't be here Saturday morning to do chores."

"I beg your pardon?" Mel's eyes widened with surprise.

"I can't be here," Ron repeated. "I have detention on Saturday morning."

"Oh Ron," Jane shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand. "You got detention on the first day of school?"

"It wasn't my fault." Ron protested indignantly. "Even Ms Masterson said so, and she gave it to me. Lottie was there, she can tell you. I was minding my own business when Nigel Kelly started in on me. I was doing all right until he asked me how "the Beaver" was and that's when I lost my temper. I just – I couldn't help myself."

"Nigel Kelly?" Mel's back straightened. "Don't tell me that emaciated idiot is still terrorising the other children."

"Ye-yes, sir," Ron stammered, not quite sure what emaciated meant, "he is."

"Did you let him have it?"

"Jane." Melvin rounded on his wife in surprise.

"Oh please, Mel. As if you weren't thinking the same thing. It's high time that degenerate got what was coming to him. And if Ron is the one that gave it we should be rewarding him, not punishing him."

"Jane, we should not be encouraging bad behaviour."

"Who's encouraging bad behaviour? Now Ronald," she turned her attention on the gap-mouthed teenager, "I have no qualms with you playing football. Melvin here," she patted her husband's chest affectionately, "used to be a fine player in his youth. It was one of the first things that attracted me to him. Skrade women have always had a soft spot for intelligent athletes. However, grades come first in this household. If playing football interferes with your schoolwork you'll have to drop the team. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am." Ron nodded agreeably.

"All right then," she waved him up the steps. "Go change your clothes. You and Mel have a lot of shopping to do."

Jane sighed contentedly and settled farther into her pillow, knees drawn up and a thick orthodontic journal across her thighs. She glanced up from the periodical at the sound of the door opening and greeted Mel with a smile when his face appeared in the doorway.

"Hello, love." She folded down the corner of her page and snapped it closed before setting it on her nightstand. "How'd it go?"

Mel closed the door and crossed the room in four broad steps, taking a seat at her hip. "Fine." He leaned in and captured her lips in an affectionate kiss.

Jane sighed into his mouth as her husbands weight pushed her further into the pillows, his arms wrapping around her waist. When he pulled away he brushed her hair gently off her face and stole another kiss. "We bought everything he could possibly need for football. He should be set for the season."

"That's good." She smoothed Mel's hair back into place and smiled sadly at the look in his eyes. "You like having another male in the house, don't you."

"I like having anyone in the house."

"Mel," she scolded softly, "you know what I meant. I know it bothers you that Hermione never showed any interest in sports."

"No, it doesn't. I'm glad Hermione cared more about her education than sports."

"Yes, but I know you always wanted a son you could talk sports with."

"I wouldn't trade Hermione for a hundred sons."

"And I never said you would."

Mel released his wife and rose to his feet. He turned toward the dresser and began the long process of unbuttoning his shirt. When the last button slid free of its hole he pulled the soft fabric off his frame and crumpled it in a ball before tossing it in the laundry hamper. "I like him, Jane." He unclasped his watch as he moved toward his dresser. "He's a good boy. Quiet. Respectful. Very different from the way Hermione described him."

"That was over five years ago. He was bound to change."

Mel sighed as he sank onto the foot of their bed. "It's not that, Jane." Mel shook his head. "He's not just quiet. He's guarded, unwilling to open himself. Tonight at dinner it took half an hour for me to get Ron comfortable enough to open up and have a real conversation with me."

"He's a teenage boy," Jane said with humour as she crawled across the bed, "and your daughter's best friend." She stopped directly behind him and settled her arms around him. She rested her chin on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his neck. "Please don't tell me you expected it to be easy."

"No," he sighed, leaning his head back so his cheek rested against hers. "But it didn't stop me from hoping." His fingers twined with hers, securely holding her to him. "He didn't eat anything tonight. I doubt he took more then four mouthfuls at dinner."

"He didn't bring any lunch with him to school either."

Melvin shook his head completely mystified. "I'm worried about him. Hermione warned us he wasn't eating much lately, but this is ridiculous. It's not healthy for a boy his age not to eat."

"Hmmm…Perhaps his appetite will improve now that he's playing football."

"I hope you're right." Mel ran his finger back and forth the length of her arm from wrist to elbow. "It wasn't until we started talking about football that he finally began to open up. He was so eager to learn all I could teach him about the game."

"Well, that's good, isn't it? Maybe it will help him forget."

"Football isn't going to make him forget. It's not just going to magi…magically fix things."

"I know that." Jane whispered, uncomfortable with the silence that had fallen. "But maybe football will help make the transition easier. Maybe it will help him feel more at home, more like one of us."

"Maybe." He patted her hand affectionately.

"Mel," Jane let her lips graze the rim of his ear, "did Ron say anything about Lottie during dinner?"

Melvin turned his head to look at his wife, "No." He pressed a kiss to her cheek before removing her arms from around his neck. "And I didn't ask him about her either."

"Well, why not?"

"Because it's none of my business. Nor is it any or yours? Why do you want to know anyway?"

"He mentioned her so dismissively I felt she had to have made an impression on him."

Mel snorted with incredulity. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it does. He mentioned her, didn't he?"

"Very, very briefly."

"But he took care to make it sound like it was no big deal which is a clear sign that it was a big deal. See?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't see. That makes absolutely no sense."

"Of course it does. You just don't remember what it's like to be a teenager."

"Maybe, but at least I went through it as a boy."

Jane huffed with annoyance. "Would you stop being difficult?" She moved back on the bed where she pulled down the covers and plumped her pillow before climbing in.

"I'm not being difficult, I'm being right." He rose sharply to his feet and undid the front of his trousers.

"Yes, dear. Of course you are." She took up her journal once again and found the article she had been reading about a new cement created by an American orthodontist.

Mel silently replaced his trousers with pyjama bottoms before disappearing into the master bath. Five minutes later he returned, cheeks shiny and flushed from a gentle scrubbing and with his breath smelling like the mint toothpaste he used.

He tossed the throw pillows off the bed into a neat pile in the corner before climbing under the covers. He rolled over onto his side so that his back was facing Jane. After several minutes of lying there quietly, eyes closed, his breath purposefully regulated, he turned his head slightly so that he could just see Jane over his right shoulder. "You don't have to worry about him."

"What are you talking about, Melvin?" She slowly turned to the next article but Mel knew he had her full attention.

"I didn't ask Ron about Lottie, that's none of my business. But I did ask him about that detention he got today."

"He already told us he got into an argument with Nigel Kelly."

"Yes, he did, over Hermione more specifically. Apparently Nigel Kelly asked him what he had done that got him stuck living with "Beaver's" family. It sounded like the only thing that stopped Ron from pummelling him was Lottie jumping in the middle. The way Ron made it sound, Lottie is the little sister to one of the students he and Hermione went to school with."

"You mean she's a…a…a squid or…what does Hermione call people with no magic born from witches and wizards?"

"I don't know. Squid sounds about right. But that's not what she is. From what Ron said it sounded like Katie, the girl he went to school with, is like our Hermione. A witch born to Muggles."

"Well, that's nice for Ron." She slowly closed the cover of her journal. "I'm glad he found someone his own age he can talk to." She leaned over and flicked the switch that cast the room into darkness before dropping the journal on her nightstand. She turned over and nestled her body against Mel's back. She tucked her chin into his shoulder and inhaled his sent. It was a smell that normally soothed her, but tonight it didn't hold the same affect. She was worried. Mel's assurance had done very little to alleviate her fears. In fact, it might have made them worse.

Jane knew how her daughter felt about her red-haired friend. She hadn't moped around the house during all of the Christmas holidays because she suspected Harry fancied Ginny Weasley. No, her daughter had moped because of another Weasley entirely. A Weasley who had agreed to go to a teacher named Slug's party with her before ditching her for another girl. A girl he proceeded to snog in public every chance he could, simultaneously throwing Hermione's emotions into a state of permanent upheaval.

Last school year had been a very difficult one for Jane. She had come to the realisation that her daughter had come of age without her ever even realising that so much time had passed. And suddenly everything had become so complicated. Legally, in the wizarding world, which her daughter was now so deeply imbedded in, she was an adult and Jane no longer had any say in the events of her life. And yet, for most of the past year she had still been a seventeen-year-old girl. A girl who was lost and confused and hurt because of the callous actions of a boy she couldn't seem to get over, a boy whom she had now invited to stay in her very own home. Sometimes Jane couldn't help but feel that her daughter was very peculiar. Maybe it had something to do with being a witch. She didn't know.

When Hermione's letter had arrived asking if they would be willing to let Ron into their home and teach him the ins and outs of being a Muggle, she and Mel had discussed the situation at length. Mel and Hermione were very close, closer in some ways then she and Hermione had ever been. She knew first hand how strong the bond was between a father and his only daughter. But Jane knew that Hermione hadn't shared much of the past year with her father either.

Mel agreed immediately to let the boy stay but Jane hadn't. Ron had hurt Hermione and what was worse, he didn't even realise how many times and in how many ways he had. But in the end Jane had to give permission, no matter how reluctantly, because she couldn't betray her daughter's confidence and it was Hermione after all who had asked if he could stay. If her daughter was comfortable with Ron in the house, then she would try to be too.

Before he arrived Jane had feared she wouldn't be able to get over her ill feelings toward the boy, but the moment they picked him up at platform Nine and Three-Quarters her heart had melted and she had forgiven him his every fault. No wonder her daughter couldn't rent him from her life. He was too utterly adorable, endearing, and charming for his own good. And what was worse, the poor boy didn't even know it.

He leaned in close, pressing his nose up tight to the small book, rereading the final instructions for what must have been the hundredth time. The room was hot and steamy around him, hampering his vision with the white vapour. With his free hand he reached up and drew his sleeve across his brow, mopping up the sweat that had gathered there.

He watched his body move as though he was separate from it. He could see his hands reaching for bottles and dishes, roots and leaves. _No, no, no._ He screamed loudly but the words seemed to be trapped in his head. He watched helplessly as his hand stirred the mixture: three times clockwise, five times counter, three times clockwise, five times counter. The potion bubbled and fizzed in front of him. Large bubbles formed and burst on the surface, splattering his face with the hot liquid and singeing it. His right hand reached for one last bottle on the work surface. The final ingredient.

Slowly, his hand turned and the small black objects shifted closer to the mouth. _Don't do it! _he heard his voice scream in his head, pleading with himself to no avail. The bottle tipped further and the mass of black slid to the lip. A tremble of the hand and the first few specks fell into the cauldron. To his horror he watched his wrist turn all the way and the rest of the dots plunged into the foaming brew. His hand held the bottle for a moment longer then indifferently released it, letting it fall into the mist.

There was an almighty boom and Ron could feel the warmth of the explosion wisp past his face. This wasn't right. There wasn't supposed to be an explosion. _Scrap it, Ron! Scrap it before it's too late!_

His hand took up the ladle from the tabletop and dipped it beneath the surface of the magenta liquid. He watched the putrid fluid draw closer and closer to his lips and tried to turn his head away but he had no more control over his body's movements now than he had before.

The bowl of the ladle was resting on his bottom lip, waiting patiently for his lips to part and draw in the hot liquid.

'_Ron, stop!' _He could barely hear Hermione's voice shouting over his own. _'Don't drink it!'_

'_Put it down, mate! It's not worth it!' _Harry's voice joined Hermione's. _'Just put it down!'_

Ron struggled to pull the spoon away from his mouth but there was a sudden uncontrollable surge inside him that forced his lips open, his head back and the ladle to tip.

The hot liquid slid down his throat and into his belly, settling and cooling like a heavy river of lava. The sound of the ladle hitting the floor drew his eyes down. He couldn't remember releasing the handle. He looked uncertainly at his right hand and let out a scream of terror when he saw the table top through his translucent arm. The image faded further until there was nothing left, just a stump where his right hand had been.

Ron jerked into consciousness with a great gasp of air. He immediately patted his right arm from elbow to finger tip making certain that everything was there, down to the last fingernail. With a sigh of relief he collapsed back onto his pillow, his breath shaky and shallow. It was just a dream. A vivid, horrible dream, but a dream just the same.

He closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. This was ridiculous. Why was he so worked up about a dream? It was not as though he had deliberately sabotaged himself. He had been careful. He didn't know how he could have been more careful.

After several minutes of steady breathing his heartbeat returned to a normal. He rolled onto his side and reached for the digital clock that sat on his beside table. 3:48. He fell back on his pillow. This was going to be a long night.

Jane rolled over in her sleep and inhaled the sweet aroma of smoked sausage, the heavy sent of porridge and the musk of sliced melons. She sighed at the satisfying sent and buried her face further into her pillow. Three seconds later her eyes blinked open and scrunched with confusion. She hoisted herself up on her elbow and looked over her husband's body at the red glow that was her bedside clock.

"Mel." She nudged her sleeping husband in his chest with her elbow. "Mel, wake up."

"What?" He grunted, rubbing his ribs where she had jabbed him.

"Do you smell that?"

Melvin turned his head to look at his wife with an incredulous look. "Do I smell what?"

"Mel."

Knowing he would get no sleep until his wife got what she wanted, he inhaled deeply. "It smells like sausage," he took another deep breath "and something sweet."

"Is Ron making breakfast?"

"Smells like it." He yawned heavily as he turned over and snuggled his face back into his pillow.

"Mel." She shook his shoulder persistently. "Get up."

"Why?" he murmured, flipping over to look at his wife.

"Because it's 5:30 in the morning."

"And?"

"What is Ron doing up and cooking breakfast at 5:30 in the morning?"

"I don't know. Maybe he couldn't sleep."

"Melvin Herman Granger…"

"All right, all right." He groaned, bringing up his hand to cover the yawn that escaped his lips. "I'll go and talk to him."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Mel grunted unhappily as he pushed the light sheet off his body and thrust his arms through the sleeves of his robes. Half an hour more of sleep, that's all he asked, just half an hour more.

His feet landed noiselessly on the carpeted steps as he descended to the main floor. He made his way down the hall, listening to the sound of cupboards and drawers opening. He pushed open the door to the kitchen, the soft swish it made on the floor announcing his presence to the young man.

"Hello, Mr Granger." Without looking up Ron continued to work the spoon through the gooey mixture contained in a large plastic bowl.

"Good morning, Ron." Mel moved farther into the room, scratching his sleep dishevelled hair. "How did you know it was me?"

Ron finally looked up. "You step heavier than Mrs Granger. Plus, she's more of a morning person then you. I heard you grumbling all the way down the hall."

"Fair enough. What are you doing?" He moved toward one of the chairs tucked neatly under the table, his gaze never leaving the pale boy with the bloodshot eyes.

"Making biscuits. It's my mum's recipe." He stopped a moment in his mixing to stare at the bowl. "I'm not sure I've got it right though…Maybe I should scratch it all together. Better safe then sorry." He took up the bowl and made for the bin.

"I'm sure the biscuits will be fine Ron. There's no need to bin the whole batch."

"Are you sure?" He looked uncertainly at the older man. "I wouldn't want to make anyone sick."

"Yes Ron, I'm sure. Even if they don't turn out all right this time you can always try them again. That's how we learn, through trial and error." Ron still looked uncertain. "If you don't at least bake one batch you'll never know if you have got it right."

Ron paused a moment longer before returning the bowl to the counter and taking up his spoon. "I reckon you're right."

"Ron." The young man looked up at the sound of his name. "What's the matter?"

The redhead shrugged uncommitted and tapped the spoon on the lip of the bowl. "It's time to knead the dough."

"Ronald, that's not what I meant. What are you doing up?"

"I thought you and Mrs Granger would like some breakfast," he said evasively.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know." His shoulders popped up a moment covering his ears in a shrug. "Maybe two hours."

Mel nodded with understanding. "Bad dream?"

Ron rolled his eyes and snorted softly. "Mr Granger, I'm almost eighteen years old."

"You're never too old to have bad dreams? I myself still suffer from the occasional night terror." Ron frowned at Mel with disbelief. "No, it's true. The nine months Jane was pregnant with Hermione I couldn't sleep a wink."

"Really?" Ron looked almost hopefully at the older man. "Why not?"

"Because I was terrified we were going to lose her, too." Mel sighed sadly as he settled further down in his chair, crossing his hands softly over his slightly rounded stomach. "Jane and I," he explained, "have always wanted a large family. We were both only children and never wanted to subject our own child to that loneliness. Jane got pregnant three times before Hermione, and each one ended in a miscarriage."

"What's a miscarriage?"

"There are many kinds. For some the baby isn't forming right and the body rejects the foetus. In others something goes wrong. The baby might choke on its umbilical cord. In our case Jane went into labour too soon and the babies were all too young to survive."

"But can't your Muggle Doctors stop that?"

"Yes. Sometimes they can, but not always. That's why when we conceived Hermione we took no chances. Jane was monitored heavily by the best specialists. We took every precaution and preventive measure and in the end we had a perfect baby girl." Mel smiled warmly at the memory. "But for the entirety of Jane's pregnancy I would have dreams that she would go into premature labour and I would sleep right through losing the baby. It was my greatest fear. And now that this war has started in the wizarding world my nightmares have returned; only this time they're very different."

"You know about the war?"

"Of course I do. Jane and I have been getting the _Daily Prophet _for years. As informative as Hermione's letters are, we know when information is being kept from us." Mel looked knowingly at his daughter's friend. "I'm going to share something with you Ron. There is nothing more terrifying as a parent then realising that your daughter… that your child, is deliberately putting him or herself in danger and that there is nothing you can do to stop it. Right now the only comfort I have is that she is safely tucked away at school, but even that isn't much comfort anymore. My greatest fear now is that some morning we will receive a knock at the front door and it'll be some Ministry or School Official coming to tell us that our baby girl is dead."

Ron stood quietly for a moment. "Then how can you let her go?"

"It's hard." Mel swallowed past the hard lump in his throat. "But I let her go because she's an adult, in both of our worlds now. There is very little I can do. And…it's hard to say no when she's acting the way you raised her to." Mel swallowed again, trying to wet his tongue which had gone dry in his mouth. "I'm sorry to tell you this Ron, but bad dreams are just something you don't grow out of. They're a part of life and you have to learn to deal with them. So," he used his foot to push out the chair to his right, "why don't you tell me what yours was about?"

Ron looked at the proffered seat a moment before he turned back to his work and sprinkled flour on the counter before slamming the white mound of dough in the centre of it, throwing a cloud of powder into the air. "It was so stupid. Ridiculous. Whoever heard of a potion that could dissolve your arm?"

"You dreamt you took a potion that dissolved your arm?"

Ron pounded his fist into the soft mound. "First I made it, than I took it." He curled and unfurled the fingers of his right hand several times. "It was so…strange, watching my right hand disappear."

"I can see how that would be disturbing…What do you suppose it means?"

"What? Losing my arm? Hell if I know. It was just a dream."

"Maybe…but I'm not so sure. I read in a book once that dreams were our subconscious way of relaying something we are suppressing in our daily lives. Maybe your arm represents the loss of magic…"

"Or my wand." He whispered.

"Your wand?"

Ron nodded. "I don't like not having my wand. It's been a part of me since I was eleven years old. I don't feel whole without it."

"They took it away from you?"

"I don't know." Ron pounded his fists into the dough. "All I know is I had it with me before…but I never saw it after I woke up. Professor McGonagall seemed to think someone had removed it from the room but she has no idea what happened to it."

"Is that why you're here? Because you lost your wand?"

"No." He shook his head. "If that's all it was I would be back at school." Ron slowly rubbed the excess paste and powder from his fingers. "I would give anything to be back there."

Mel hummed thoughtfully. "And that explains why you're still awake."

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "I reckon that's it."

"Is there more?"

"No…well, maybe… It's just…it's weird not having Harry to talk to, all right. We've been sharing a room, more or less, since we were eleven years old. I'm used to him being there to talk me down when I get worked up. I'm just used to being able to tell him things whenever I want and he wasn't there tonight. And…and I couldn't send Pig with a note because the stupid git was out hunting and… I had no one to talk to and…and I…I couldn't sleep."

"Do you think you could sleep now?"

"No. I've been up to long." Ron looked around the kitchen he had spent the last two hours tearing apart. "My mum always baked when she couldn't sleep. We always knew when something was bothering her because there were loads of sweets waiting for us in the morning. I thought maybe if it worked for Mum it would work for me. I suppose it didn't."

"It was a good thought, even if it didn't work. And look on the bright side, now Jane and I don't have to cook breakfast." Melvin rose to his feet and pushed his chair back under the table. "Look, Ron, I know I'm not Harry or Hermione, but I hope that you feel comfortable enough to come and talk to me when things are bothering you. That's why I'm here, to make your life easier. And I promise I won't say anything to Jane. What we've talked about will just be between you and me."

He gave Ron's shoulder a firm squeeze before moving toward the door. "Well, I reckon it's time to go get ready for work."

"Mr Granger,"

"Yes, Ron?" Mel turned in the doorway.

"Thank you." His cheeks dulled a dark red. "You know, for listening."

"Any time, son, any time."


	5. Making the Grades

Chapter 5: Making the Grades

Ron was the last of his school mates to leave the building that day for their free period. He stepped out into the sunshine, holding up his hand to cover his eyes from the glare of the sun. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light and when they cleared he scanned the school yard. He instantly spotted Lottie, Nessy and Logan, who were sitting at the base of the hedge surrounding the school, their faces shaded by the tall shrub.

Ron felt a swell of annoyance and regret when he spotted Lottie. She had been avoiding him all day. This morning he had called her name while getting off the tube but she had quickened her step and disappeared in the mass of students moving along the platform before he could catch up to her. She had also made it a point to sit as far away from him as she could manage during lessons and to pick up and leave at the end before he had a chance to talk to her.

Sighing heavily, he turned away from the small group and caught sight of Nigel and his cronies on the same bench as the day before. Not wishing to participate in another unpleasant scene, Ron turned in the other direction and made his way for the same circle of benches as yesterday. It looked as if he had found his place in this school, alone and segregated from the others.

He walked with his head down, his eyes watching the ground in front of his toes. Once he reached the benches he dropped his rucksack and dug out his Statistics text. This morning had been a horrible eye opener. Never having taken a mathematics course in his life, Ron was completely lost in nearly every aspect of the subject. When Ms Nunn, the Statistics teacher, started to explain how to find the area under the standard normal curve and wrote things like µ and σ on the board he was completely lost. And he never could figure out what made certain numbers mean. What exactly was mean about them? Were they harder then the other numbers to figure out or was there something particularly nasty about them? He didn't know. And when he lifted his hand to ask the teacher to explain, Ms Nunn told him that she didn't have time to go back over the material so he was going to have to do it on his own. Ron had lowered his hand and sunk low in his seat, his heart settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. If he wanted to keep his spot on the football team he was going to have to catch up to his classmates and right quick, too, or that was the end of it.

So here he was during his one free period of the day, flipping open his book to the first chapter, an ironic quirk on his lips. If only Hermione could see him now. She would be so proud of him. She, like everyone else back home, would never believe he was deliberately doing his schoolwork without any coaxing.

"What the hell is this?" Ron didn't bother looking up when Logan took the seat next to him. "You're doing assignments in your free time? Are you mental?"

"Probably," Ron muttered.

"Couldn't that wait 'til after school?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't have time after school. I need to catch up to the rest of you." He tried to read a few more lines then groaned with frustration. "Merlin, this is useless. Why?" He looked up at Logan, "Why am I complete rubbish at everything I do?"

"That's an easy one to answer." An internal groan followed the sinking feeling in Ron's stomach. Nigel Kelly swaggered boldly toward them, flanked by his three companions. "It only takes one look to know that you're complete rubbish through and through so it only stands to reason that everything you do would be complete rubbish too."

Ron slowly pointed his chin toward Nigel Kelly, his face a mask of annoyance. "I knew I smelled something foul." He turned his nose up at the boy. "Don't you have anything better to do then try and insult me?"

"Is it technically an insult when it's the truth?"

Ron's knuckles turned white as his fingers dug into the cover of his book.

"Ignore him, Ron." Logan narrowed his dark eyes at Kelly. "He's just jealous."

"Me, jealous? Of him? Why? Because his parents didn't care about him enough to keep him around or because he's lucky enough to live with Beaver and her family?"

"No." Logan crossed his arms smugly over his chest. "Because, unlike you Ron wasn't laughed off the field at his football trials."

Kelly's hands curled into tight fists as the superior smile on his lips twisted into a sneer. "You shut your mouth, Grayson or I'll make you shut it."

"More like you'll find someone to do it for you." Ron said flatly. "Isn't that how it works? Someone says something you don't like and you send your mindless thugs after them? Do you even know how to fight your own battles?"

"Why fight them when I can have someone else do it for me?" He nodded his head and his three friends took a menacing step forward.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Why is it that you Nancy boys all hide behind idiots who don't realise you're using them?"

Before Ron had a chance to react Kelly had lunged forward and latched onto Ron's collar, hauling him to his feet. He pressed his face in close to Ron's so that the very bridge of their noses touched. "What was that, Weasley?" He snarled through his clenched teeth.

"Come on, guys," Logan was instantly on his feet and trying to wedge his arms through the two boys in an attempt to pry them apart. "You don't want to get in trouble with the teachers two days in a row."

"Did you just call me a Nancy?" Nigel pushed Logan out of the way, ignoring his attempt to separate them.

"So what if I did?" Ron smirked. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I said stop it." Somehow Logan managed to force himself between Ron and Nigel, finding enough leverage to thrust them from each other.

"Get out of the way, Grayson." Nigel shoved at him, doubled fisted, on the chest. "This doesn't concern you. It's between me and Weasley." He glanced over Logan's shoulder, gave his head the slightest nod and suddenly big beefy hands circled Logan's arms, pulling them up tight against his back.

"Let me go!" Logan kicked back at the legs of the two boys pinning him. "Son of a bitch. Alfred! Leroy!" He roared. "Let go."

Ron took a cautionary step closer to the shorter boy. "Don't make me fight you, Kelly."

"Is that a threat?"

"No." Ron shook his head. "It's a warning. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Then why don't you show me?" Nigel shoved against his chest, knocking him back a step or two.

"Don't." Ron said in a low warning tone.

"Why don't you fight back?" Nigel shoved him again. "Too scared?"

"I said don't push me."

"Come on, Weasley. Fight back." Nigel made to push him again but Ron's arm came up lightening quick and blocked his advance. With a precise twist Ron had the other boys arm pinned painfully behind him. "Listen and listen well. I don't have the time or the patience to deal with you or any of this. I don't want to hurt you… so back _off_." He snarled.

"Ron, stop." A small hand fell on his shoulder. "Let him go." He turned his head slightly and found Lottie looking up at him, Nessy standing a few paces behind her. "Please. Don't get yourself in anymore trouble because of him. It's not worth it."

Ron stood frozen in indecision for a moment. He hadn't known the boy for a full two days and already he was ready to pummel him into the ground. Even Draco Malfoy hadn't been able to get a rise like that out of him so quickly. Feeling a swell of disgust mount inside him, he released Nigel's arm and stepped back. "I don't want to fight you, Kelly." He shook his head. "So just leave me alone. Just leave me the hell alone." He turned slowly around, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and hurried away, his shoulders hunched around his ears, his eyes on the ground.

"That's right, Weasley," Nigel yelled after him, rubbing his sore elbow, "walk away. You wouldn't want to get yourself hurt."

Lottie rounded on Nigel, her eyes roaring with fury. "Didn't you hear what he just said? Leave him alone."

Nigel chuckled snidely. "Why should I? It's so much fun to get a rise out of him. And so easy, too."

Lottie shook her head slowly with disgust. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Your mother is one of the kindest people I have ever met. How is it that she raised such a bastard for a son?"

A muscle twitched in Nigel's cheek. "What's this? Weasley needs a _girl_ to defend him now?"

"Didn't we go through this yesterday?" Lottie rolled her eyes with annoyance. "Ron Weasley doesn't need anyone to defend him." She stepped back. "And just so you know, I wasn't stopping you from hurting him, I was stopping him from hurting you."

Lottie turned to walk away. "What do you see in him anyway?" She stopped and slowly turned. "He's a poor sixth son with no prospect and a family that unloaded him on someone else. Hardly someone to bring home to mother."

"What I see in Ron Weasley is none of your business. And it won't ever be. So will you please just let off and leave me alone?"

Nigel moved close so that his body was a breath away from hers, his mouth close enough to her ear that she felt every word graze past the lobe. "I want you, Lottie. I've wanted you for a long time. And I always- get what I want."

Lottie shuddered with disgust as she pushed Nigel forcefully away from her. "Someday you're going to have to realise that your father's money doesn't buy you everything. Now have your friends release Logan or I scream bloody murder and have a teacher come running. Your choice."

Nigel stood rooted, eyes narrowed staring at her a full minute before he gave the nod that freed Logan of his muscle prison. The dark-haired boy winced as he lowered his arms, his muscles tightening painfully from being held in an awkward position for so long.

"We'll finish discussing this another time."

"I hope not." Lottie turned her back on Kelly and went to Logan, making sure that he was all right.

Nigel glared at them a moment before he turned and walked away, his three friends rushing clumsily to keep up. Nessy waited until the four boys were a good distance away before she rushed forward and crouched down to pick up Ron's book, stuffing it in his bag. "I really hate that guy."

"Yeah," Logan muttered rubbing his shoulder, "you and everyone else." He rotated his neck three times. "Thanks, Lottie, for stepping in when you did."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes I do. There could have been real trouble if you hadn't shown up. I seriously thought Ron was going to hit him."

"Yeah," Nessy giggled, "so did Kelly. Did you see his face before Lottie stopped Ron?" She gasped and contorted her features into a look of terror. "Classic."

"Yes, well," Lottie stifled her own chuckle, "as satisfying as it would have been to see someone finally slug Nigel Kelly, Ron needs to stay out of trouble right now."

Nessy's eyes widened with interest. "And why do you care whether Ron gets in trouble or not? I thought you were angry with him."

Lottie's face sharpened with surprise. "I'm not angry with Ron."

"Really?" Nessy arched her brow as she straightened to her full height, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a defiant pose. "Then explain to me again, why aren't you talking to him?"

"And avoiding him?" Logan piped in.

"To prove a point."

Nessy and Logan's eyes caught before rolling with exasperation. "I hate it when you have a point to prove," Nessy groaned as she bent over to take up Ron's bag. "It always lasts entirely too long and the recipient usually doesn't don't know what point you're trying to make."

"Don't worry." Lottie frowned. "Ron knows exactly what point I'm trying to make."

He moved slowly, taking care to test the uneven and jagged ground before placing full weight on his foot. It was slow moving here with no light to guide his way. His eyes were open wide, searching desperately for a glimpse of anything that might tell him where he was and what he had passed. But there was nothing, just a sea of inky black.

His toe caught on a particularly jagged stone and he fell forward, catching himself with his hands and splitting them open on the sharp edges. Cursing loudly, he pushed to his feet and rubbed his bloodied hands on his robe. This was ridiculous. Certainly a simple charm like _Lumos_ would set off no alarms.

He had already thrust his hand into the pocket of his robes, his fingers curled around the shaft of wood when he stopped and shook his head. No, it wasn't safe. The Dark Lord was a clever wizard, he knew perfectly well that a Muggle would never attempt to burrow into the many shafts and tunnels beneath this ancient keep. The only person who could possibly reach this point was a witch or wizard. And if one did manage to make it this far the Dark Lord would want to greet that person himself before he killed them. He shuddered as a breath of cold air traveled down his spine. He knew if he was caught death would be welcome after the torture he would be put through.

He released his wand and slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket. Squaring his shoulders until his back was ramrod straight, he continued forward, or what he assumed must be forward. He still had no idea, really, where he was or what he had passed, and so it was impossible to tell if he was going in circles or a straight line.

A cold quiver crept up his back a moment before he collided with a powerful barrier that left a smarting pain in his nose. This was it. He lifted his hand and placed it obsequiously against the solid mass. He closed his eyes and let his senses take over where his eyes had failed. Excellent, his eyes sprung open, Dark Magic had been done here. He could feel it in his bones. He ran his fingers over the strange surface, his head tipping with curiosity. He had never encountered anything like this before. The surface of the barrier was neither smooth nor rough, but felt both silken and brittle to the touch.

He ran his hands along the expanse of it until he found a place where the wall seemed to bend in. When he tried to force his forefinger through, he heard an angered hissing from above. He jumped back, extracting his finger and hiding it within his robes. There was no point in him staying. He desperately needed light to proceed. He would come again, when it was safe, and he was ready, for now he needed to return before he was missed.

Ron threaded his fingers through his hair and tugged tight. This was utterly impossible. How on earth was he supposed to understand something as infuriatingly impossible as Statistics? He was completely lost after only one page of reading. At least the art text he had spent the past three hours studying had words he understood or could look up if he didn't, and the concepts weren't completely foreign to him. He had looked at enough paintings in Hogwarts' many corridors to understand the ideas the book was trying to get across. But this? He had no basis for understanding any of it.

"All right," he murmured under his breath. "Let's try this again. If the x-distribution is normal, then the sampling distribution of x is normal. What the hell does that mean?" He flipped back a few pages in his book, scanned the contents three times, before flipping back to the problem, staring at it blankly for two minutes, then slamming the book shut. What was the point? He was never going to learn to do all this shite, his grades were going to slip and the Grangers were going to take him off the football team, then… what was he going to do with himself? Lottie's words came back mockingly clear. _Sit around the Grangers' house all day, eat crisps and watch TV?_

He moaned with misery as he let his head fall with a thud on the desk surface. What he really needed right now was Hermione. At least if she were here he would have a chance of making it, but what was the point of making useless wishes? Hermione and Harry were probably off at this very moment on some grand adventure, looking for one of the Horcruxes without him.

A wave of despair washed over him at the thought of his two best friends. He hadn't heard from either Harry or Hermione since Hedwig had arrived that first day bearing Hermione's letter. Never before had he felt so desolate and alone. He hadn't gone without hearing or seeing from one of his friends for this long since he was a first-year. Logically he understood that Harry and Hermione couldn't possibly send him a letter everyday. It would be time-consuming, pointless and dangerous not only for him but for Harry. It was just like the summer before fifth year when he and Hermione had been unable to write real letters to Harry. Now he knew how Harry had felt. He was edgy, frustrated and ready to lash out at the least provocation.

Take in point the row between him and Kelly today during their free time. Ron's stomach tightened at the memory. Kelly had got to him, not because anything he had said was any worse then the things Ron had heard before, but because in a way they were true. His parents hadn't even tried to convince him to come home and stay with them. They had practically packed his trunk and pushed him out the door when the Grangers had offered to take him in. And as much as he thought he was okay with it, he knew now that a part of him wasn't.

Ron rotated his hands in a circular pattern over his eyes, trying to relieve the tension that was starting to mount there. Enough of this. He lifted his head. He would have to deal with those issues later. Right now he needed to concentrate on the crisis at hand: his inability to complete the most basic statistical equation. He was in desperate need of help and for the first time in his life completely without anyone to help him.

After Hermione, Lottie would have been his first choice as tutor, but seeing as she refused to talk to him, he was quite certain she would turn him down without listening to his proposition - and that was if he could manage to get close enough to ask. He could ask Logan or Nessy for help, but quickly discarded the idea. He didn't know how he would explain to them his minimal education in mathematics. There was really only one other option left. He would have to throw his dignity aside, muscle up every last recourse of courage he had, and ask Mr Granger to help him.

His Statistics work in hand, Ron made his way down the stairs toward the Grangers study. His long feet came to a stop just outside the heavy panelled door. He lifted his fist to rap on the dark panel but his fingers stopped just short of connecting. He didn't know if he could do it. Asking Hermione for answers was one thing; asking her father to help an idiot like him with his Statistics work was another. He looked down at the book in his hand and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He knocked hesitantly on the door and waited for Mel's call to come in.

Ron's first glimpse of Melvin Granger's study had him nodding with appreciation. The room was warm, strong, and completely masculine. The walls were mostly covered with built-in bookcases complete with simple glass doors that protected the books inside. What little wall that was left bare was painted a warm hunter green. On the far wall across from the door there was a family portrait of the Grangers that couldn't be more than two years old. The Hermione sitting demurely in the picture had the perfected smile she'd obtained through Madam Pomfrey's Shrinking Charm in fourth year. In the middle of the room was a massive mahogany desk with a place on both sides for an individual to work. In one corner there were two high-back chairs upholstered in dark brown leather, with a small side table set between.

Mel was seated in one of the two leather chairs, a new paperback book in hand. "Hello, Ron. Come in, take a seat. Let me just finish this paragraph." He placed a sweet wrapper between the open pages as his eyes scanned the last few lines before he snapped it closed. "Sorry about that." He set the book on the table while Ron took the seat next to him. "I hate to stop in the middle of a paragraph. Now, what can I do for you?"

Feeling that familiar swell of insignificance and humility at being dense and slow, Ron turned his face and focused on the portrait he had noticed earlier, a pang shooting through his heart at seeing Hermione's face smiling back at him.

When Ron didn't immediately respond Mel leaned back in his seat, steepled his fingers and looked at him intently. He spotted the book in the boy's hand and his eyes widened with understanding. "Do you need help with your school work, Ron?"

"No." Ron's pride ordered him to respond immediately. Mel watched as the boy tried to hide his book behind his thigh.

"Oh, all right. I just thought that since you took the time to bring your…" Mel leaned forward until he could see the title printed across the cover, "Statistics book all the way down here, you might need help with it. But seeing as I was wrong, I reckon I'll just return to my novel."

"No." Ron reached out to stop Mel when he made to open his book. Slowly he pulled his textbook out into the open and laid it across his lap. "Mr Granger, I need your help. I don't understand this."

Mel set his book aside once more before moving forward in his chair, reaching out his hand. "May I?" He asked, nodding at the text.

Ron flipped open to the problem he was working on, handed it to Mel and pointed to the question. Melvin settled back in his chair, crossed his right ankle over his left knee and propped the book against his thigh. He sighed heavily as he settled in, his lips pursed to the right as his eyes scanned over the page. After several minutes of quiet reading he flipped forward, read another three pages, then turned back to the page Ron had marked.

"How much of this do you understand?"

"None of it."

"Have you asked your teacher for help?"

"Yes. Ms Nunn told me in class that she didn't have time to go back and re-teach the material. She said it was up to me to learn it on my own. She said it wasn't her fault that my other teachers had failed to teach me the basics."

"I see." Mel narrowed his eyes with displeasure. "And when are these problems due?"

"Thursday."

"You're working on them already?" Mel nodded appreciatively. "Good for you."

Ron shrugged. "You and Mrs Granger said that I have to keep my marks up if I want to stay on the football team, and I really do. I had so much fun at practice today. We had a scrimmage and my team slaughtered the other team." Ron's smile faded. "I don't want to have to leave if I can help it."

Melvin closed the book around his finger before pushing up from his seat and walking across the room to set the book on the desk. "Take a seat Ron." He pulled back the chair before moving around the side of the desk to retrieve the other. "Are you having trouble in any of your other classes?"

"Not yet. Well, sometimes I have a little trouble following what the teacher's saying, but I understand most of it pretty well."

"Good, then we can focus on this until you have it and address other problems as they crop up. How does that sound?"

"All right." He shrugged.

Mel set his chair next to Ron's and sat down. "Let's start at the beginning." He flipped the pages back to the first chapter. "The maddening thing about Statistics is that you have to start at the beginning and understand it thoroughly before you move onto the next step. You can't just jump in whenever."

Ron's eyes bulged. "You mean I have to go through all these pages before I can do my homework?" he thumbed through the stack that separated the beginning of the book from the page with his assigned problems.

"I'm afraid so. But don't worry; you have me to work with. You came to the right person, Ron. I've always been somewhat of a master when it comes to numbers. Now, Statistics. Statistics is the study of how to collect, organise, and interpret numerical information from data…"

"Ron." Jane stood at the bottom of the stairs and called to the floor above. "Ron, come down and help with dinner please." When Ron's response didn't come immediately like it normally did, she began to climb the stairs to the second storey. "Ronald, did you hear me?" She reached the landing and walked down the hall toward his bedroom. When she arrived she found the door open and the room empty. "Ron?" She turned back around and looked down the hall with confusion. Where was the boy? He was suppose to be working on his schoolwork. "Ron!" she called again as she descended back down the stairs, stopping to check the sitting room and the dining room as she went. When he proved to be in neither, Jane sought out her husband, whom she knew was in his study. Perhaps he had some clue as to where Ron had gone.

The door to Mel's study was open a crack when she arrived. She peeked through the gap and saw Mel and Ron crowded around one end of the mammoth desk Mel had insisted he needed, their heads bent over the same book and bit of parchment. "Very good, very good," she heard Mel's soft voice mutter. "That's right, now convert that to it's z-value." A few more scribbles on the page and Mel was clapping Ron on the shoulder with his large hand. "Excellent. That's exactly right."

"You mean I did it?"

"Yep."

"And it's right?" There was a note of surprise in Ron's voice.

"Precisely."

Ron sat gap mouthed with astonishment. He flipped to the next page of his book. "Can I do another one while you watch to see if I got it down?"

"Of course you can," Jane said brightly as she pushed the door the rest of the way open. "But why don't we save that until after you've helped me finish dinner?"

The two men turned in their seats to look at Jane standing in the doorway with an almost contented smile on her lips.

"Excellent suggestion." Mel rose to his feet. "I think Ron and I could both use a little break. What do you say we return to this after dinner?"

"Yeah, sure." Ron nodded as he set his pencil down and followed Mel to his feet, rolling his neck to relieve it of the kinks from being bent forward so long.

"Have you got all your other work done?"

"For the most part. I still have to read the first two chapters of _Paradise Lost_, but other than that I am done for tomorrow."

"Good man." Mel rumpled Ron's hair as he stepped past. "What are we having tonight Jane?"

"Lasagna."

Mel smacked his lips with anticipation. "Ahh, my favourite."

"Mr…Me…Mr Granger."

The older man stopped in the door way. "Yes, Ron?" He looked back at the red-head.

"Have you ever read a book called…_The Lord of the Rings_? Is that right? _The Lord of the Rings_?"

"Yes, yes of course I have." He leaned his body against the doorpost, crossed his arms over his chest and his right ankle over his left. "_The Lord of the Rings, _written by J. R. R. Tolkien. Wonderful story. Why do you ask?"

"Because Lottie told me she thought I should read it. And I was wondering if you knew where I might find a copy?"

"I might." Mel used his shoulder to shove away from the post. "Can I trust you to be very careful with one of my books?"

Ron cast an uncertain look around the room. It was very apparent from whom Hermione had inherited her obsessive compulsive tendencies towards books. "I think so." His voice quivered with uncertainty. Mel's brow arched high. "I promise I won't take it out of this house and I will keep it away from all food and beverages and…" Ron racked his brain trying to remember all Hermione's pet peeves and rules regarding books. "Oh," his voice rose with excitement, "and I will never fold or tear a page."

"I see Hermione's taught you well," Mel chortled.

"Only where her books are concerned. I tried folding down a corner once and she nearly tore my head off."

Mel chuckled with amusement. "I don't imaging you tried that again."

"No, sir." Ron shook his head. "Never."

"Then I suppose it's safe to let you borrow my copy." The older man moved along the bookcase-lined wall and stopped five cases from the door where he lifted the protective glass door. His fingers lightly skimmed along the spine of several books before he stopped and pulled out a thick volume. "Here we are." He handed the book to Ron whose eyes bulged at the sight of it. "This might take you a while to read. There are three books in this one, and the first is a little hard to get into but I promise that if you stick with it you'll find it rewarding."

Ron stared at the book gap mouthed. He had got to be kidding. He had never seen a book this thick in his entire life.

"What's the matter Ron?"

"I don't know if I can read this. I've never read a book this big before."

Mel laughed again. "Well, now's as good a time as any to change that. Come on," he turned Ron by the shoulder, "let's go help Jane with dinner before she comes looking for us again."

Harry looked down at the list of names Professor Straub, this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and his newly instituted Head of House, had given him of the students who had come forward interested in the newly vacant Keeper position. Most of the names he was almost certain he could cross off the list without ever seeing them on a broom, but for the sake of being fair he would wait and see them fly.

Heaving a great, disgruntled sigh, Harry pushed the scrap of parchment aside. He didn't want to deal with this right now. Not on top of Prefect duties, Quidditch practice, Horcrux research _and _finding. He didn't want to replace his best friend on top of all of that. But he knew he had to. He had put it off long enough and his teammates were getting anxious. They needed time to learn how to fly with their new teammate before their next game or it could be a disaster.

"Hi, Harry."

The green-eyed boy looked up at the sound of his other best friend's voice.

"'Lo, Hermione." He watched as she set her bag down before taking the seat next to his.

Hermione's eyes caught on the abandoned piece of paper as she lowered herself into the seat. "Are these potential Keepers?" she asked, taking the list up.

"Yeah," Harry groaned. "That's it. That's all I have to choose from."

"Romilda Vane?" Hermione chuckled when her eyes landed on the girl's name. "What do you think she's more interested in, the Keeper position, or you?"

"Ha, ha." Harry snatched the page back. "Very funny."

"You know, Harry, more people might show up for the actual trials," she offered optimistically.

"I hope so. Because if this list is all I have to choose from, we're doomed. Hopefully there's some fresh talent amongst the first-years."

"Don't worry, Harry." She patted his arm comfortingly. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine."

A shrug of the shoulders was all the more response Hermione got and it made her heart clench that much tighter in her chest. She hated seeing Harry like this. Never would she have dreamed that Quidditch would lose its sparkle and wonder for her friend. Normally when Harry talked about the game it was with excitement and enthusiasm. She knew perfectly well that Quidditch was one of his favourite things in the world. But his love of the game had quickly dwindled and started to die when Ron was forced to leave. Harry didn't have to say it, she knew that in the wake of everything that had happened he just didn't feel that Quidditch was that important any more, and the knowledge was killing her.

Why was it that everything Harry cared for got taken away from him? His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny, Ron, and now even Quidditch had lost its appeal. It just wasn't fair. Was her friend allowed nothing that would make his life more carefree and enjoyable?

Curling her fingers under the seat of the chair, she moved it closer to Harry so that she could lean close under the pretence of looking at what book he was reading. "Has Tonks responded yet?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed turning his book so that Hermione could better see it. "She'll stop by Friday after Keeper tryouts. We're to meet her in the Room of Requirement."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing much. I couldn't risk Hedwig getting intercepted."

"You think the Ministry is reading her mail."

Harry glared at her with annoyed disbelief. "Of course it is. Scrimgeour knows that Tonks knows something. She was here the night the school was attacked. She wouldn't have been if she hadn't been in contact with Dumbledore."

"Do you think…" Hermione looked suspiciously around the room. "Do you think," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "that he's having us watched?"

Harry nodded. "Ron too."

"Ron? But what can he do from my parents' house?"

Harry shrugged. "How does the Ministry _know_ it wasn't a ploy that we made up to cause a diversion, get them off our scent, or more pointedly, his scent? Not to sound smug, but we're clever kids, and he knows that. He also knows that I was working with Dumbledore on something secret. I bet he would give anything to know what that was."

"The Minister has more important things to worry about than conspiracy theories."

"Yes he does, but he isn't. He wants to know what you, Ron, and I are doing."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "You really have no faith in the Ministry, do you?"

"No." Harry shook his head taking his book back. "I don't. And considering everything they've put us through, you shouldn't either. The Ministry has messed up to many times. There've been too many officials in Death Eater pockets, too many false arrests, School Board decrees and lying." Harry absently rubbed the back of his hand where the raised white scars from fifth year still showed with predominance. "I'll deal with my Ministry issues when all of this is over."

Hermione watched sadly as Harry unrolled a scroll of parchment and was almost surprised to see that he was nearly finished with his Potions assignment. She didn't know why it still came as a shock to her. Harry had been so focused and motivated this school term, especially since Ron had been forced to leave. She knew that he blamed himself for what had happened. She also knew that he was bound and determined to take care of this Horcrux business so that he could focus on helping Ron. To that end he needed to maintain passing grades so that he could stay at the school and he needed to get his revision done so that he could have time to focus on research in other areas. Add that to his Head Boy and Quidditch duties, and Harry was running himself ragged.

Hermione had tried everything she could think of to get him to slow down a pace or two - he was no help to any of them if he was dead - but Harry's consistent response was that there would be time to relax later; right now he needed to work.

In the end Hermione had given up on trying to convince him to slow down because she knew it was hypocritical of her when she was running herself just as thin and ragged as he.

Hermione reached inside the deep recesses of her pocket and ran her fingers along the worn spine of a leather bound volume. Tonight, like every night, when she was finished with all her work and duties, she would retreat into the safety and solitude that was her room, and work on the mystery that was in her pocket. She knew that the answer to one of her problems lay hidden and yet in plain sight in the pages of this book. She only had to find it. Which of course was proving harder then she had first imagined.

"Hermione!" Harry stiffened and Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket at the sound of Ginny Weasley's voice coming around the bend in the girl's dormitory stair.

She appeared around the curve in the wall and paused momentarily at the sight of Harry. "Oh." She awkwardly tucked a strand of her long copper hair behind her ear as she ducked her head, hiding her eyes from sight. "Hello, Harry. I didn't…I…I didn't realise you were down here, too."

"Hi, Ginny." Hermione could hear the timbre of sadness in Harry's voice. "How are…"

"I came down to ask Hermione with help on this Arithmancy problem," she said in a crisp clear voice, cutting him off. "But if you're too busy working on things that _I_ can't be partial too then I'll go find someone else to help me."

Hermione's heart went out for the wealth of pain and longing she saw behind the firm chin and glossy shine in Ginny's eyes. The redhead forced her chin up defiantly another notch before turning to march her way back up the stairs.

"No," Hermione called after her, stopping her mid-step. "Please." She got to her feet and took a few steps to go after the other girl. "I just sat down. Now's the perfect time. I'd love to help."

"Are you sure?" Ginny looked uncertainly at Harry, who was holding a piece of parchment up so that it covered his face. "If you and Harry are working on whatever it is you work…"

"We're not." Harry lowered the paper so he could meet her eyes. "It's all right. You can be here. I'm just going over possible candidates for Keeper."

Ginny's eyes darkened with a sudden flare of anger. "Oh, that's right." She slammed her book down on the table. "You have to replace my brother because he got hurt doing something I'm too young and innocent to know about. Or is it that you think I'm too stupid? No," she held up a hand, "I got it. You won't tell me because you think I can't be trusted. I bet that's it, isn't it. I bet you think I can't be trusted because I wasn't able to stop that diary from taking me over."

Harry sighed heavily. "That has nothing to do with it, and you know it."

"Do I? I don't understand any of this. Why won't you tell me what happened to Ron? Harry…please, I _need_ to know what happened to my brother."

"Ginny," Hermione put a soothing hand on the girl's shoulder when Harry turned his face away. "We can't tell you what happened to Ron. We can't," she repeated when Ginny glared at her in disbelief, "because we don't know what happened to him. Harry and I know just as much as you do."

"Right." Ginny rolled her eyes as she shook Hermione's hand off her shoulder. "Do you really expect me to believe that? I'm not stupid, you know. I know you three share everything with each other."

"It's the truth." Hermione insisted. "Ron never…

"Don't bother arguing with her, Hermione. She's got the very worst of the Weasley stubborn streak."

Ginny rounded on Harry, her hands making their way to her hips, her eyes flaring with anger. "So what if I have?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, did I?"

"You didn't have to. Your voice said it all."

"You see," Harry looked past her to Hermione, "there's no reasoning with her when she's like this."

"Will you two stop it?!" Hermione pounded her fists against the table causing both Harry and Ginny to jump at the sudden sound. "I don't need this right now. You don't need this right now, neither of you. We have to stay friends." She said slowly. "Don't you understand that? We _have_ _to_ stay friends. We can't keep rowing like this, it's tearing us apart. This is exactly what Voldemort wants." She took the strap of her book bag and flung it over her head. "When you two stop acting like four-year–olds, come and find me. 'Til then I'll be studying in my room. Harry, I'll see you for rounds."

Harry and Ginny both watched in stunned silence as Hermione marched her way up the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight Ginny rounded on Harry, stomping her foot impatiently. "Now look what you did! I really needed her to help me with this problem."

"Ginny," Harry pressed his weary eyes into his fists. "I'm sorry, I just…I can't handle this right now. You have no idea what kind of pressure I'm under."

"I would if you told me."

"No." Harry's hands dropped to the table. "Out of the question." He rose to his feet, making a slashing motion with his hand. "I'm not dragging you into this as well."

Ginny clenched her fingers at him in frustration. "You are so infuriating. Don't you get it? You _can't_ drag me into this! You can't because I'm all ready in it! Whether you like it or not I would be involved even if I had never met you. I'm a Weasley, damn it!" She finished as if her name were explanation enough.

"You're right." He stepped around the side of his chair. "You would be involved. But I'm not going to put you in any more danger then you're already in."

"Shouldn't I have a say in that? You didn't argue with Hermione and Ron about it. You let them go with you. Why won't you let me help? You said you had to do this alone. And I understood that, because I know you. I know how you're brain works. But I never realised alone meant you, Ron and Hermione."

"Gin," Harry reached for her.

"No," she sidestepped him. "You're not going to pat me on the head and send me along like a good little child. I won't let you do that to me again."

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Because I'm not a child any more." She wiped at her eye where a tear had snuck out. "I hate you, Harry Potter. Do you know that? I really, really hate you."

"Yeah," He reached for her again. "I know that." This time Ginny let him wrap her in his arms, pulling her tight to his chest.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. "I really do hate you."

He grasped her chin lightly between his fingers and eased her chin up until she met his eyes. "I don't blame you." He pressed his brow to hers. "I would hate me too."

"Harry, I…" Her words were cut off by his lips capturing hers, kissing her like he had longed to every day since he had broke things off. He half expected her to pull away and slap him any moment. He had no right to be kissing her like this, no matter how wonderful it felt to have her in his arms. When she eased into his body and wound her arms around his neck he thought his heart might explode in his chest. They clung to each other and for a moment it was like no time had passed.

For Harry everything else melted away, all the stress and loss in his life disappeared until all that was left was Ginny and the taste of her lips. He clung to her like a desperate man needing the comfort of her arms more than he needed to breathe. He could have stood there like that forever but when she whimpered softly the sound wrenched him back to himself. He savoured her a moment longer before forcing himself to pull away. Ginny reached for him again but Harry took her hands gently and forced them down to her side. "Ginny, we have to stop."

"Wha-but I thought…"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"I wanted it to happen."

Harry smiled sadly as he toyed with a strand of her hair. "So did I, but I still shouldn't have let it. It's just going to be harder the next time I leave."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Without me."

"Ginny…"

"No, no. I get it." Her brown eyes began to glisten with tears. "Once again I'm being left behind."

"Ginny, I…"

"All I want to do is help, Harry. No one lets me help. Not you, not my parents, not my brothers. I'm not a child any more. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can."

"Then why won't you let me help you?"

"Ginny," he took her hands in his, "the best way you can help me is to stay here where I know you'll be safe." He released one hand so that he could push a strand of her coppery hair out of her eyes before cupping her cheek tenderly. "I know I'm being a selfish bastard in asking you to wait for me, but I'm going to do it anyway. I need to know that when all of this is over I'm going to have you to come back to."

Ginny pressed her cheek into his hand and set her fingers lightly on his wrist. "But what about me, Harry?" A tear trickled from her eye and slid down the length of his finger into his palm. "Don't you think I was going mad all those times you, Ron and Hermione disappeared without an explanation of where you were going or where you had been? Do you think I'm able to concentrate on anything until you get back? What about me, Harry? What if one of these times you don't come back? What am I going to do?"

"Ginny," His arms dropped to circle around her slight body, hugging her tight to his chest. He set his chin on the crown of her head and inhaled the sweet flower sent that was distinctly her. "I can't promise I'll come back. And I won't insult you by trying." Her arms tightened around him. "But I can't _not_ go." He pulled away from her enough so that he could reach between them and tilt her head up to meet his gaze. "I trust you." He pressed a chase kiss to her brow. "More than most. Ginny," he waited until he knew he had her full attention, "the thing is…I _am_ the Chosen One." He said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" she gasped, her body stiffening in his arms before pulling violently away. "Don't tell me you buy into all that _Daily Prophet _rubbish."

"Ginny, please." Harry took a step toward her, his hand held out beseechingly. "You know me better then that. When have you ever known me to buy into anything the _Daily Prophet _has written?"

"But," her eyes widened with fear, "how? I-I don't…"

Harry took hold of her arm and drew her toward the corner of the room where he knew no one could overhear them without his knowing it. "Ginny listen, I can't give you all the details. Not here, not now. I can only tell you the basics. Do you remember that night at the Ministry and the prophecy, the one Neville smashed," Ginny nodded that she remembered, "that wasn't the only copy. Dumbledore heard the prophecy. He told me what it said, all of it. I'm it, Ginny. I'm the one that has to stop Voldemort. I'm the only one that can."

Ginny's hands came up and her fingers dug into his cloak at the elbows. "But…but…but…you're only seventeen. What…? You can't…if Dumbledore couldn't, how can you?"

"I don't know. That's what Ron and Hermione are trying to help me figure out. Ginny," he used his fingers to once again force her eyes to meet his, "you have to swear to me that you won't tell anyone what I just told you. Not even your mum and dad. No one. Do you understand?"

Ginny stared at him a moment open mouthed, lips quivering. "I…I…"

"He knows, Gin, not all of it, but he knows enough to realise I'm a threat but not enough to know I'm his only threat. If he ever finds out he will come at me in any way he can and one of the quickest ways to me is through you." Her head snapped up in surprise. "Please, Gin. Do you swear it?"

Her mouth gapped open a minute, moving soundlessly as she tried to form words. "Yes," she finally said, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, of course. I swear it."

His hand once again came up to lovingly caress her cheek. "Do you understand now why I can't be with you? The risk would be too great. I don't know what I would do if I lost you, too."

"All right, Harry." She lowered her head to his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks in great torrents. "I'll leave you alone… I promise." She stood there a moment, holding him, letting her tears soak into his chest. "I don't really hate you," she whispered.

Harry stroked her hair tenderly. "You should."

Ginny pulled away slightly so that she could look up at him. She toyed with the fringe of black that he always wore over his brow. "No, it's too late for that."

Smiling sadly, she lifted her face and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek before breaking free of his arms and rushing up the steps to the girl's dormitory, desperately needing the solitude of her bed.

Harry slowly wandered back to the table and picked up his potions book. He stared angrily at the cover for a moment and with a great bellow of frustration, hurled it against the wall. "Damn it!" He fell into his chair and buried his face in the crook of his folded arms. "God damn it."


End file.
